Enraged sword and brain, a stormy night rendezvous. The battle of love, seizing a delicate heart, lethal like confiscating propitious acre. Knightly march of sword, resolved to bleed the foe. Brain laughs, annihilates lawless youth. Sword turns back, fire in eyes. “Wherefore hold me back? I will slay Hector”. Brian toddles, window yawns. Sword quakes in furious storm. “Who that dares stand beside dauntless Achilles?”
“I’m Odysseus. Odysseus that devastates. The God, the muse of intelligence. The perilous Satan, the cause of Hiroshima. I’m all that exhumes graves. I slumber as the Indian imp, rise at once to wreck the wimp. I’m the tycoon of cold genocide, once I chose the devil’s side. My reason guards my Hyades way. I’m the brain that never slain, My foes I oppose with thousand feign. I’m the Brian, self-contained.

POETRY

METAMORPHOSIS

Its Summer eve with lively green around.

Fresh flowers, fruits, all fluttering the boughs,

While incensed breeze upon them gently kiss.

The sky above delights with sparkling diamonds.

That illumes the mazy way to Bluemond.

Loitering round the snaky track through field,

With Colossus arch seems to conceal,

My amble in search of nature’s beauty.

The clouds above embracing each other,

Like keen lovers tearing together,

Their flesh out of wild ecstasy.

Half an hour past, with my wandering eyes

Hungry at every natural sight.

Alas! a streak of fire whizzed on the sky.

As if shadow of my path on the blues.

Another deeply cracked on the field.

With all green instantly sealed.

Next straight up before me,

Like brightest angel of Eden,

Fell accursed right from heaven.

With white heart whacking on my ribs,

I lurched the way that ends on heath.

Deep from its core leaped up a shape

Amidst darkness like a spirit.

Nearing me with clumsy steps,

He raised his hand in east and west.

With a voice of thunderous tempest,

He circled me and firmly says,

“Welcome hither, bard of nature,

World is yet to you unseen.

Nature here is grim not green

Lost of every luring luster.

Thunder spoiled with roaring anger,

Land that once was brimmed with green,

Phoebus leaps up, grow more stronger,

Squeeze us all to scepter thin.

Loiter, loiter, wakeful loiter,

If you to be praised and sing.

Words will alone fail to bring,

Whole of winter and of spring.

Madhobilota: Yet another “Cloud Capped” Dashabhuja?

It’s impossible for any connoisseur of Ritwik to be oblivious of "Cloud Capped" Nita. Not a mere breadwinner of the family, Ritwik however, allegorizes her with Uma — the ancient Mountain-goddess. She is also the consort of Shiva. And her abode is thus, Kailash. The cloud capped Nita too mythically reaches there, after she becomes burden of her selfish family. Ritwik operates this myth with various impressionistic devices — like the sniveling soundtrack, bidding adieu to the daughter, leaving her motherland:
"Let me bid you farewell now, my daughter!
You are leaving my home desolate, for your husband’s place."

Uma is "dashabhuja". Nita is also forced to the similar role by her overtly selfish family. Her incessant struggle at the cost of her own life vehemently reminds us of another icon of a different time of Bengal history ——Madhobilata, during the uproar of the Naxalite movement. Samaresh’s trilogy Uttaradhikar, Kalbela and Kalpurush focuses her in the last two novels, almost similarly like the 50s Nita in Meghe Dhaka Tara.

Both of them edify how to balance our many aspects (dasabhuja), particularly at the moment of crisis. Nita’s struggle is at the time when her family settles in a in a bustee ("slum") after being victims of Partition. Her old father is wearied of his eldest son, the eccentric Shankar, who is completely indifferent of their poverty. Dreaming of becoming a classical maestro, Shankar pushes Nita, like his other family members, into a menacing life of a best of burden. Nita leaves her studies, sacrifices her basic needs, and even pathetically endures her lover, growing immoral due to her sheer inability of promising him a possibility of marriage, due to family pressure. And all these she does out of love. She openly confesses to Shankar that she simply loves them "madly". Ultimately blind love ruins her completely and she remains a "Cloud capped star", whose worth is perhaps better realized by Banshi da, the owner of the grocery shop.

Blind love also roasts up Madhobilata. Animesh, her husband pushes her into a ceaseless turmoil, soon as she appears homeless up before him. By the time he is already a wanted anti-social. Police is always after him. The uneasiness stands as a substantial barrier between their union. Animesh realizes that. Yet he is somewhat casual about the social obligations of his fiancée. He leaves her all alone to struggle and helplessly muses on his failure to stand beside the homeless Madhobilota. The latter unwearyingly endures Animesh’s helplessness, just for the sake of canopied love. Often she consoles him with her avowal that she is self-sufficient and need not be bothered too much about her. Animesh can safely carry on with his political idealism, where Madhobilota will never intrude.

This is blind love, for which Madhobilota continues devoting herself despite anticipating a bleak future ahead. In one of their early rendezvous in the Sealdah station, she explains her newfound love that the nature of "Lota" (a Bengali word for creeper) is to cuddle. Madhobilota does exactly the same —— embracing Animesh, and impetuously falling into an erotic temptation in Bolpur. Arka is born when Animesh is in jail. With a baby in her lap, Madhobilota settles in bustee. Her remarkable personality defends her from being harassed by the bustee, normally fussy about such a vulnerable lady. And by the time, Animesh returns from jail, she is already established with the social respect of a schoolteacher. The bustee calls her Masterni (lady teacher), honors her, and even fears her for being completely different from them.

Arka grows up gradually, Madhobilota continues working like dashabhuja, counting days for Animesh’s return from jail. Even she was once imprisoned and horrendously tortured up before Animesh. The reason was to know about the secret of a naxalite worker whom Animesh knew. Madhobilota was pregnant. She pleaded with Animesh not to reveal a single word about his escaped comrade. How can after all she squash the prestige of her husband for her own weakness? But Animesh exasperates her soon after he comes out of jail. He decides not to return to his wife despite knowing about her pregnancy, while he was in jail. Ultimately he returns home, defeated by his wife’s resolution to continue life with him.

Soon as Animesh returns home, Madhobilota goes out to bring Arka from school. She returns with her son, carrying a kerosene tin and a bag of bazaar. From thence onward her unyielding struggle grows from more to more. Animesh is completely shattered by the frustration of the naxalite movement. He is reduced to an inactive handicapped, who cannot even stand on his own legs. With his "dashabhuja" wife managing both "home and the world", Animesh develops a complexity. He whines that his wife relishes a sadistic pleasure in her painful labour, feels contended hearing others pitying on her sweat. The fuss grows stronger in North Bengal where the family hastens to stand beside Animesh’s dying father. And even there she retains her usual role of dashabhuja and finally returns to her bustee once again torn apart.

Animesh impulsively decides to stay back, almost carried away by the helplessness of his stepmother and his ageing aunt. But what about his own wife and their son? How can he be so indifferent to his wife when she has always wanted him beside her? How could he refuse to meet his pregnant wife every time she visited the jail after her severe assult? How could he forget her after he appears out of jail, despite knowing about Madhobilota’s pregnancy? Is it selfishness or the complexity that has always unease Animesh to be with his wife? Is he an escapist?

Whatever he may be, it is true that Animesh has always been the source of his wife’s perennial trouble. And Madhobilota has always accepted it as a part of life since she has an unconditional love for Animesh. In Kalbela Samaresh shows how she sacrifices even a simple cake for her husband and their son. An affluent school teacher offers her a cake. Madhobilota tactfully slips down the cake into her bag for her family; having just a bit of it as a show off, up before the teachers. The episode alludes to her denying even minimal food for the sake of her family. And that ultimately ruins her health. Towards the end of the trilogy, she succumbs to perilous ulcer and admitted to hospital. Even there, she mumbles Animesh’s name soon as she regains consciousness after her fatal operation. Animesh rushes into the R.G. Kar hospital coming all the way from North Bengal. He is stunned hearing about his wife’s frequent starvation for the sake of their family. Amazing indeed!

Ultimately Madhobilota survives. Unlike Nita, she doesn’t melt in her own mythical abode of Kailash. Instead, she stands up beside her son, encouraging him for his dream society. Arka is the Bengali word for sun. Madhobilota waits for the new sunrise in Iswarpukur- the bustee where they live. Even the readers await her cinematic version to be swathed in her magnificence of a veritable dashabhuja icon as well as a potent male fantasy of an ideal woman.

Unsung Poet

Bishnu Ghatak: How long is the road to Guinness?

How many poems should a man write before we call him a poet? Ten thousand I saw at a glance from the diaries of Bishnu Ghatak who puts pen to paper, amidst all odds with a promise to reach the highest number in Guinness Book of Records.

An Economics graduate from Calcutta University, Ghatak once worked as a time keeper of Dum Dum Cantonment - Howrah Mini Bus route. He is living in a dingy room shared with wife Tapati and their only son Sambrito, in the vicinity of Nagerbazar. His father, Late Tarapada Ghatak, a connoisseur of poetry, inspired him a lot. But, he could not back up his dear son as he was mercilessly victimized by fate. Quitting his technician job with Telco, due to being handicapped after an accident, Bishnu had to maintain his family. His father had no other option left besides seeing his son working as an errand-boy at road side tea stalls.

But the only relief for Tarapada babu was Bishnu's ardent passion for poetry even amidst such turmoil. In his own words, "when my father saw my first published poem in school magazine, he was overwhelmed. Tears brimmed over his eyes and those tears are my inspiration still today". With an invocation to his father, before his creation, Gatak has composed more than 10,000 poems; perhaps the highest number in the world. "In Bengali, Nazrul Islam is still now the highest poem writer with 5000 poems. Tagore comes second with around 3000 poems. A French poet with the bulk of 6000 poems is the highest poem writer in the world. I myself have written more than 10,000 poems and aiming for Guinness Book as the highest poem writer in the world", explains Ghatak.

The bulk of Ghatak's poems are on social evils. Being a Naxalite sympathizer, he feels that "poetry is at the bottom, criticism of life." His only published book of poems Amar Gandib Amar Indradhanu, released in Calcutta Book Fair, 1996 reflects the darker side of the city of joy -- poverty, political clashes, pollution and other vices of Calcutta.

Though a poet from the marrow of his bone, Ghatak has penchant for script writing. He won the National Award for the best script on environment consciousness from the Ministry of Forest and Environment in 1992. "I went through film director Ritwik Ghatak's script of Nagarik to get the hang of script writing. In addition I had a little practical experience that helped me a lot."

There is more to Ghatak than meets the eye. His mirror writing or reverse writing compels appreciation. Inspired, by his guru Da Vinci, the Mona Lisa icon, Ghatak mastered the art of mirror writing, perhaps in the hope of finding himself in the Guinness Records. He first composes his own poems in reverse writing for some special reason. In his own words, "It’s because no one would be able to make any sense out of it, if the page is lost.” Besides his own poems Ghatak took upon himself to rewrite Sunil Gangopadhay’s Nirar Kabita, Tagore’s Sesher Kabita and Niren Chakrobarty’s Ulanga Raja.

If winter comes can spring be far behind? Spring in Ghatak’s career might come round with his reverse Mahabharata. To quote Ghatak, “It is more difficult to do it with Bengali letters for they are not in straight line as in any European languages”.

The following is an excerpt from Ghatak's Fossil where the poet ridicules the bourgeois:
The fretful day is not far,
When your mortal frame,
Will wizen into a skeleton,
With your lusturous eyes sunk
Into sockets,
Mocking at your portrait
With a disdainful smile,
To expose in its nakedness
The rotten mass,
The inevitable Metamorphosis of life

Into fossil.

"deceiving elf."

"fled is thy music:—do I wake or sleep?"

Tianamoon

The nocturnal sky shimmering with stars around
The trance earth lulled by odorous breeze,
Rustling the old Bacchian leaves.
The silvery moon illumes the weary land,
Makes visible the rocky river bank.
My aching legs lead me to that way,
Fatigued of sweet saunter through sylvan land.

Sitting beside the mango tree,
I watch the quivering moon,
Tempting me to gulp her down.
The starry fays around her
Form her bright necklace,
Her silvery rays all,
Form her wedding dress.
So true is her watery vision,
That fills me with sensation.

Beyond the horizon I see my mind
Luring me to catch those days.
Like stars decked in the sky
They shine but in haze.

Still amidst the rush of days,
Glistening like you the fair moon,
The elusive hours of mine in her arms.


Tender was those nippy nights,
On the carpet of the green hills.
Though now they far behind
Yet visible in sleepless dreams.
I bend to catch those greasy hours,
Only to be drenched in silvery water.
The watery moon now lost a while
To form her in some stilly eve.



- Ist published in POESIA

SWEET FANCY

"the fancy cannot cheat so well"





THE UNATTAINABLE

The clock strikes the hour of midnight.
My active mind carrying me to windy Ganga.
Far behind my sweet home, too near the temple,
Visible with its glimmering lights,
Reflected on the water ripples.


All around the sweet breeze,
Carrying the odour of Spring-flowers.
The starry night, the silvery rays,
The twinkling lights from a far distance,
Urging me to feel complacent.
It seems being out of the fretful world,
I'm in the lap of happiness.


Fast flows the vast Ganga,
Carrying me to unknown destiny.
I feel as if blessed by God,
Being out of my misery.

I turn my eyes to feel the night,
And they discover you there.
Happiness now piled with joy,
To find you sauntering here.
Come H.B., lets spend the night,
Being lost in our glittering eyes.

Your eyes are decked with the
Lustre of your youth,
Your gestures excite my nerves.
I feel forever to be in your arms,
Whose pleasure be the soothing balm,
To all my scars of misery.

But time conspires to break my trance,
With rattling carts wounding the charm.
Yet I hold you in my arms,
Till my mind allows the vision.

Now single we are in the circular world,
Locked to win the Troy of life.
But before we begin our Troy afresh,
Dawn leaps up to destroy our fate.

With tearful eyes I adieu fancy,
Crying, H.B. are you there?
H.B. now lost in ominous light
Leaving memory burning bright.


My first published poem

Soft emotions

"desire of the moth for the star,

Of the night for the morrow......"

DESIRE

The fever and the fret of reality,
The sweatiness of my hectic labor,
Amidst the din of the madding world
Exhaust me to sweet labour.


I lay upon my moon-blanched bed
With stars to induce my exotic dream.
The breeze with their breezy rustle,
Enthralls me to the brim.


My mind breaks the earthly shackles
To which my frame is bound to stay.
It moves far away and away,
To renew all my sensual sense.


Drizzling night if I chance to have,
Washes off all my weariness,
The thunder with all their splendor,
Carouse me to merriness.


Yet all these charms of nature
Fades into the stark of dawn.
I feel as if the night be long
With daylight be just temporal song.