Prabhat Ranjan Sarkar

Friday, October 17, 2014

(119) Megh tumi kache eso

Clouds, please come near— We crave rain, more rain. Green paddy seedlings are withering; There is no water, not a single drop. Today, the lemon blossoms are not filled with nectar; The custard-apple buds do not bear fruit. Pomelo flowers are not imbued with fragrance. From this unbearable drought we beseech relief. The kadamba^[1] blossoms are all falling; The tuberose^[2] flowers do not bloom. Our earth is getting scorched by the heat wave— Where may we find the cool of monsoon?

(118) Varasa eseche bharasa eseche

Monsoon has come; hope has arrived. The chatak's^[1] thirst has been quenched. Withered grass, made gorgeous green, Assumes the form of carpeting. Rain patters to the ground, As if heaven's ambrosia drips down. To trees lost sweetness is restored; For animals new life is found. Come, let's rush toward the goal With invincible spirit and boisterous song. Looking back or sleeping in— Today, all inertia is gone.

(117) Varasar dine sabakar sane

On this rainy day, along with all, Let us go forth in harmony. If progress is not your desire, Reclining, tell the tale of a fallen leaf. Today, all are stirred by the beat. With the sound of peacock calls, A reticent earth proceeds, dancing, Garbed in bewitching verdure. In this elated, grand assembly, In this universal air of excitement, With passionate discourse and jubilant song, Let us uplift the lives of everyone.

(116) Varasa eseche niipanikuinje

Rain has come to the kadam^[1] grove. In the cane grove, dancing and dancing, All the peacocks are stirred by the beat. With vibrant songs from lyres playing, A world without meter gets new life. Jasmine fragrance wafts in the wet air. Mind pollen beams out of pleasant fascination. In cadence with the huge happiness, Every half-dead tree is reanimated.

(115) Varasar rate tumi esechile

On a rainy night You came In the garden of tuberoses.^[1] I was in a huff, In my bolted house. In a tiny nook, I bode. Storm after storm came. Blow after blow was felt. Still, throughout the night, You kept awake At the music concert. Torrential rains came pouring down, Gust after gust was felt. Yet, throughout the night, You kept awake In a sweet love chorus. For a stormy night you came In the garden of tuberoses. I was unaware, In my bolted house. The tuberoses, they took notice.

(114) Keka kalarava mukharita prate

At dawn, peacock calls resounding, Who are You who came with ankle bells on Your feet? Jingling more sweetly than a hundred lyres, Your body was swathed in the splendor of clouds. Today, the palmyra and betel-nut palms have donned new beauty. The fragrant kadam^[1] grove is laughing. A gentle breeze, dispersing pollen of screw-pine flowers, Floats toward the blue yonder. Today, the frogs hop about in frenzied glee; Alongside, the jasmines— who knows what they speak! Bashful kaminii^[2] flowers, shedding fragrance, Glance at the players time and again.

(113) Vishakhatanay vaeshakh tumi

You are Vaesháka,^[1] son of Vishákha.^[2] You have come with the radiance of Bhaerava.^[3] On each and every earthly atom, You have imposed Your destructive flow. By dust storms, all is now turned gray; Verdure's beauty is well-nigh destroyed. On the burning soil and withered grass, You rapidly imprinted your season's identity. The river's water flow has dwindled. Cloudless nights are flooded with stars. The one at whose pleasure everything exists— You have brought Him in marvelous form.