Category: Anuvāda

REFRAIN
What feeling do you speak of, my friend,
What is this pain that you speak of?
All this ‘love’ that you speak of day and night,
Tell me, friend: what indeed is this ‘love’?

Is it all but pain and grief? Is it only full of sighs?
For what joy then do so many crave for such sorrow?

Through my own eyes, I see
All things well and beautiful,
All things ever-renewing, ever spotless –
Blue skies above over green forests,
Lovely full moons and gentle blossoms –
I see them all in my own joyous likeness:
For theirs is but laughter and song,
Sojourning to death amidst smile and play –
not knowing grief, not knowing dread,
not knowing the sorrows of desiring …

In joyous smile the flower wilts –
and the full moon waxes away in smile –
Undeterred in joy, the stars of the night
Pass away into the flooding of the dawn.

O, what happiness could ever match my own?
Come here, beloveds, let me now sing to you
Happy songs of a happy heart, come rest your souls!

Maybe your heart weeps each day now,
But someday you too will smile with me –
Someday with all woe and pain forgotten,
We will sing and dance together in happiness.

— Rabindranath Tagore (“সখি, ভাবনা কাহারে বলে”, ft. Trissha Chatterjee)
(Caveat: See this note for this kind of poetic translation.)

For Dhruv—
Delhi, Jyeṣṭha Kṛṣṇā Ekādaśī,
The 15th of May in 2023.

All that my heart desires and craves for, it is for you: for you alone.
For you are all that I call my own, love, in this whole wide world.
Should happiness elude you here, then go forth and seek it freely;
For now that I have found you within my heart, I want for naught else.
I shall languish in the pangs of separation, dwelling forever upon you,
Through the long days and nights, and the long months and years to pass.
And should your heart love another, and your path never lead back to me,
I hope that all you wish for comes true, even though all sadness be my lot.

— Rabindranath Tagore (“আমার পরাণ যাহা চায়”, ft. Rishi Panda)
(Caveat: See this note for this kind of poetic translation.)

Delhi, Pauṣa Śuklā Daśamī,
The 1st of January in 2023.

I seek after so many desires, and you save me by your denial –
This, your hardhearted favor earned, I have accrued all my life.

All that you have given me already: skies and light, body, mind and life,
For these gifts divine, you make me worthier through each passing day,
Saving me from the perils of an over-desiring heart.

When I walk halfhearted on your paths,
You cruelly remove yourself from my sights.
This is but your kindness, I know, sigh;
You turn me away yet only to receive me.

You lead this life into fullness, to be worthy of your communion,
Saving me from the perils of a half-willing heart.

— Rabindranath Tagore (“আমি বহু বাসনায়”, ft. Sahana Bajpaie)
(Caveat: See this note for this kind of poetic translation.)

For VK—
Delhi, Pauṣa Śukla Pratipada,
The 24th of December in 2022.

नमः वज्रयोगिन्यै॥
Salutations to the Vajrayoginī!

Amidst the tree of this body, with its five branches,
The sting of mortality has now stirred up the mind.
Lui says—“Go ask the Guru in calm resolution:
“What are the farthest limits of that great bliss?”
For what would one truly do with all this labour,
If only to die in the currents of pain and pleasure?
Fetter away and desert those longings for meaning;
Embrace closely now that great emptiness’s flow.
Lui says—“I have found it deep within me:
The wisdom of the flow in the body’s breaths!”

— Mahāsiddha Luipāda, c. 8–10th c. CE, eastern India
(Caveat: See this note for this kind of poetic translation.)

नमः वज्रयोगिन्यै॥
Salutations to the Vajrayoginī!

My self is here no more; so what would I now fear?
The desire for great practices now stands appeased.
O Yogi—do not move away from the path of bliss,
Now that you seem unfettered and bereft of bounds!
Whatever you were before, Yogi, you remain so still,
You dwell now in illusion—not the bliss you think!
You cannot aspire to speak of what is unspeakable,
Just like you cannot find pearls outside the deep sea.
Tāḍaka says—there is no such possibility for you:
All your understanding is but a noose on your neck!

— Mahāsiddha Tāḍakapāda, c. 8–10th c. CE, eastern India
(Caveat: See this note on this type of poetic translation.)