T. P. Kailasam

Poems and Plays

2011-08-27T00:10:00.000-07:00

Poems
The Dramatist
Eternal Cain
Truth Naked
The Lake
Mother-Love
The Sixth Columnist 1943
A Monologue
The Recipe
The Smilin' Seven
The Artist
Kaikeyee
Commiseration (Karna)
Drona
Krishna
Subhadra

Plays
The Purpose
Fulfilment
The Burden
The Brahmin's Curse

The Smilin' Seven

2011-08-26T11:39:00.000-07:00

1930
A Retrospect

THE Sun bereft o' reason, rhyme
Was shining day and night;
He dar'd not jib at overtime
Because of Empires might
Whose sway to every land and clime
God fear'd to trust sans light!

Traders' Tory, vendor's Whig
Did confer tete-a-tete;
They wept to sea a Brownland big
Oozing off to sweat,
The human rights of freedom twig
From rebels brown and jet!

" 'Tis naughty of the natives brown"
A belted Tory said;
"To buy at word of failing clown
Sheer self-made muck instead
Of goods and cloth Brummagew grown,
To dump on heathen head!"

"Just so", a whilom Whig agreed;
" 'Tis time something we did,
In spirit of our Xian creed,
The colour'd man to rid
Of dreams above 'is skin and breed!
'Tis time we put the lid.

"On bombing taboo, seething Sikh
Salaaming Southerner too
With generous use of jail and stick
And taught each to eschew
The tenets o' a fasting freak
Taboo to men of hue!

"With John bulldog truly set on
His motley, measly band,
Their joss the living skeleton
Will burst his noddle, and
Your beef and beer you may bet on
Our "dough" – nut rising grand!”

"Good egg! Yet 'tis not. dontcherknow.
The tin end of the wedge!;
They would not buy our goods, oh no!,
With "lathied" teech on edge !
The nag you thrash to H₂O
Well, would he sign the pledge?:

"If Seven men of simple look
And manner meek and mild
Did scour each squalid native nook
And kissed each 'depressed' child,
Right in, the fatheads will be "took"
And back to trade beguiled?!"

"A canny thocht, ah maun declair!,
"Yet, weel, ah hae mah doots!
Their premier spake ruffling his hair
His eyes were on his boots;
"Sae till you Seven are back frae there
Just hawd your blether and shoots!"

The chosen sev’n they steamed the main
And Brownland's shore did reach:
With blue eyes belching briny rain
But winking each to each;
The Septette croon'd this soft refrain,
Ere they had spann'd the beach ;

"O Brothers, in our ALMIGHTY!,
Though baked brown and black,
We come from far off Belighty,
To con whatever you lack!"
But Brownland's starv'd humanity
Yell'd (!), "Gorah sabbs, go back!"

All unabash'd the Smiling Sev'n
Did only smile the more!
With eyes aloft invoking Heav'n
In plaintive tones they swore;
"Our hearts intend no lure nor leav'n!
Your distrust we deplore!

"O loved brothers sun-kiss'd brown,
Come for a pleasant walk!
Your sacred land we would be shown,
Each temple, tree and stalk!
And all ye year for, make them known
To us in pleasant talk!"

The cutest Brown!...he heav'd a sigh,
But ne'er a word he said;
With sweetest smile he wink'd his eye
And shook his shaven head,
Meaning, mayhap, he felt too shy
To leave his spinning shed!

But white sheep darken blackest flock
And hens hatch quacking, chicks;
With burrowed plume of blue peacock
Daws and to Natures freaks;
And Brownland too much in human stack
Bred boobs whose brains were nix!

Inferiority complex
That soul debasing pest
Which bends a people's proudest necks
To alien behest
Had fashioned spine-broke human Wrecks
Of Brownland's very best.

When Greed a demon, 'gin or elf
Obsesses human soul,
'Tis sense of pleasure of pow'r or pelf
Distorts a human goal;
And he, confusing sense for self
Doth fork out Satan's toll.

In loss of manhood, honour, truth.
Love of land o' birth,
And Brownland's sons, blind in sooth,
To their own blood and worth,
Betrayed their land, both man and youth
The greatest land on earth.

Purpose

2010-11-16T20:43:00.000-08:00

A Playlet of Ekalavya

These scenes and words you'll see and hear,
I've seen and heard before,
As king or priest, poltroon or peer,
Somewhere... Somewhen of yore!
- Kailasam

"TO EACH his suffering! All are men
Condemn'd alike to groan!
The TENDER FOR ANOTHER'S PAIN;
Th'UNFEELING for HIS OWN!"
- Gray

DEDICATED
IN
ALL HUMILITY
TO
MY YOUTHFUL BROTHERS
OF
MY MOTHERLAND
IN
HAPPY MEMORY
OF

MY YOUTHFUL YEARS

"IF Youth but knew!
If Age but Could!"

Personae:

BHEESHMA	The Patriarch of the Royal Kuru House
ARJUNA, NAKULA and SAHADEVA	Bheeshma's Grandchildren
DRONAACHAARYA	Preceptor to the princes
EKALAVYA	A Nishaada (Non-Aryan) Boy

Period:
The Aadi Parva of THE MAHAABHAARATA

ACT I

Place: THE ROYAL ATHLETIC GROUNDS: HASTINA

DISCOVERED:	In the Background: Stalwart Youths at Mace and Sword exercise In The Mid-Ground: Arjuna practising with bow, his target swung by a tree-branch In The Fore-Ground: Dronacharya with Nakula and Sahadeva; the former with a riding whip and the latter with a bow taller than his own self.

Sahadeva:	(With a wry face) Gurujee! I cannot use this bow! It is too big for me! I c a n n o t even lift it!

Drona:	(Feigning astonishment) Bow too big for you? But my little man, you seem to forget you are a Kshatriya! Why, no bow in the world is really too big for a Kshatriya -- not only to lift, but to bend, string, and shoot with!

Sahadeva:	(With a more pinched face) I AM remembering I am a Kshatriya, Gurujee! But (Straining at the bow) this is too big and I canNOT lift it!

Drona:	Oh! You mean YOU are not big enough to lift it?

Sahadeva:	(Puzzled) It is the same thing, I suppose?

Drona:	"Same thing"? By no means! For, if it is the bow that is too big for you, no one can make that BOW smaller; but if it is YOU that is not big enough and strong enough to lift and use that bow... you can make yourself big enough and strong enough... can you not?

Sahadeva:	(Stragglingly) I s u p p o s e I can.

Drona:	"Suppose"? Why, of course you can: Look at your big brother yonder! Last week he made out that his GADA was too big for him. But now it turns out it was HE that was not strong enough then to lift it! For look, he is wielding the SAME gada as it were a flower! And you know where Bheemasena has been these past eleven days?

Sahadeva:	I know! The Vyayaamasaala!

Drona:	Yes. And and that is where you will spend your next eleven days. (Looks at Nakula for a moment and looks away) YOU will do the same too, Nakula!

Nakula:	(Startled) I, Gurujee! Why?

Drona:	(Still looking away) You thought perhaps that I was not watching you this morning whilst you were riding at day-break! But I was!...The MANE of a horse, Nakula!... (Nakula bites the tip of his tongue guiltily) is not meant for the rider to hold on to... unless he be a... (meeting Nakula's eyes) FRIGHTENED HORSEMAN!

Nakula:	(Scandalised) "FRIGHTENED"! I was NOT frightened, Gurujee! It was not fright that made me...do...what...I...did.

Drona:	What was it then made you...do...what...you...did?

Nakula:	I held on to the mane because...I did not want to slip off that very very big horse!...the horse was really much too big for me, Gurujee!

Drona:	(Feigning disgust and anger) "Horse much too big"! And you are a Kshatriya! And to think I have just told your little brother that...I mean...

Nakula:	(Interrupting) I KNOW what you mean...Gurujee...!

Drona:	And what do I mean?

Nakula:	You mean, Gurujee. I must never forget I am a Kshatriya! And that no bow in the world...I mean, no HORSE in the world is really too big for a Kshatriya to lift...I mean, to RIDE without holding the mane; that it was not the horse that was too big...as no one can make that horse smaller...but it was I that was not big enough and strong enough...so a MANDALA for me too in the Vyaayaamasaala...and when I come back...

Drona:	(Suppressing a smile) Yes...It is CHATHURTHEE today; and even as you can watch the MOON wax bigger and brighter every night—so must you watch your limbs and frame grow bigger and stronger everyday... and on, POORNIMA DAY—when your Royal Grandsire comes to visit us—you, Nakula, will be riding his big big, very very big, but—“never never much TOO big” war-horse DEERGHAKESHA, (adding significantly)—without holding the mane! And you, (to Sahadeva)—my little hero, will not only be lifting this bow, but bending it, stringing it and shooting with it!

Sahadeva:	(Clapping his hands) Will I, Gurujee!?

Drona:	Of course you will. Now, my little men, run away and start your SAADHANAAS this very now!

(The two start to leave by the exit on the right)

Nakula:	(Out of ear-shot of Drona, looking over his shoulder at Drona...speaks in sulky notes) "FRIGHTENED" am I? Why, POORNIMA DAY will show what I really AM! Whilst riding Thaathaajee's Horse I shall make Gurujee gaze aghast!

Sahadeva:	Why, are you going to ride—(dropping his voice)—without holding the mane?

Nakula:	(Indignantly) "The Mane"! Why you silly! I am going to ride without holding the REINS! "Frightened", ...AM I?

ENTERS BHEESHMA ON THE LEFT

Bheeshma:	(With palms together and interlaced fingers) Prostrations Aachaarya!

Drona:	(Slightly inclining his head) God's Blessings on you, Gaangeya! Out at this hour? Why, what brings you away from the Sabhaa so early?

Bheeshma:	What was there ever in the Sabhaa to keep me in at all! (Casting a look at the fore and mid grounds) How are your pupils?...Learning?

Drona:	M' yes; S'steadily...but...S'slowly...

Bheeshma:	(In a sudden fit of impatience) "Slowly"? But it must not be "slowly"! Forgive me, Aachaarya but the sooner they are fitted for the purpose which is no more than a haze to me, the sooner shall we both earn the rest that I at least crave for! I am tired, Aachaarya, tired of body, mind and soul! I want rest! A long and final rest!

Drona:	(With knit brows) The p u r p o s e of all this training, no more but a "haze"?

Bheeshma:	Aye, a "haze"...what else? To realise the purpose is to realise HIM... (Raises his eyes aloft) for He knows the PURPOSE of it all, not we! We know but the USE of all this training. As for the FINAL PURPOSE of it all...we can only guess!

Drona:	"Use"? "Purpose"? "Guess"? I do not understand!

Bheeshma:	You do not? (Sweeping the mid and fore grounds with his arm) Then look, I beseech you! Only a few more years under you, Aachaarya, and those soft little shoulders of SUYODHANA and BHEEMASENA will in time turn to mighty masses of muscle ever itching to crush the skulls of thousands! Only a few more years under you, Aachaarya, and those creeper-soft arms of Arjuna, will turn to bands of steel ever thirsting to send out fiery shafts to slake their thirst in the blood of thousands! Thus under your care and training, each one of these tender striplings will in time turn to potent powers of DESTRUCTION! THIS and only this, is the USE of all this training! As for the Purpose, the final PURPOSE of it all, we may only guess! And in guessing, fear to guess aright!

Drona:	"Fear"!, to guess aright? And what does your guess foretell?

Bheeshma:	Aachaarya, it foretells EXTINCTION! The total extinction of the whole House of Kuru at its OWN hands! You are amazed, Aachaarya! Then list, I beg of you: "GNATISCHET-ANALENA KIM?" is a saying which truthfully foretells the fate of every house on earth! And of my House too! WITH THESE POOR CHILDREN CURSED WITH THE CRADLE-DOOM OF COUSINLY HATE...WITH THEIR FOREBEARS AND FATHERS TAKING SIDES IN THIS FATAL FEUD, WITH THE SABHAA ITSELF SERVING BUT TO SEVER AND NOT SECURE THEIR BOND OF BLOOD, TO INFLAME AND NOT TO INHUME THE EMBERS OF THEIR JEALOUSY!, and over all these, WITH THIS TRAINING OF YOURS FITTING THEM BUT TO GIVE FREE VENT TO THEIR FEELINGS OF HATE,...What else may my guess foretell, Aachaarya, but the total extirpation of the whole Clan of the Kurus...at the hands of its own scions! Brooding night and day over this dreaded end, my one prayer now is to realise how far, I, whose ONE task in a long life HAS BEEN THE PROTECTION of my House—whose one plea for a dragged out life HAS BEEN THE PERPETUATION of my House, have none the less been a CONSCIOUS HELPER in this HOLOCAUST THAT HANGS over my HOUSE! (Hangs his head down and buries his agonized face in his hands)

Drona:	(Consolingly) But, Gaangeya, this is all but a guess! And this disaster...this danger that you speak of is by no means a CERTAINTY?

Bheeshma:	(Bitterly) No, Aachaarya, it is by no means a CERTAINTY! And yet, it is the very UNCERTAINTY of it leaves one standing helpless, inert. In the NOONTIDE of CERTITUDE one can calmly face the direst peril, for danger has least terrors when it is SEEN, KNOWN, UNDERSTOOD: what dread one feels, dies out when at death grips with danger-burns out in the fire of fight! In the DARKNESS of NESCIENCE even with the danger UNSEEN and UNKNOWN, one can still sally forth bravely in blind faith and desperate Hope! But what chills one's blood—numbs one's limbs and deadens one's WILL to fight—is the helpless hopeless groping in the GLOAMING of UNCERTAINTY in which the danger neither reveals its true form, nor shuts itself fully out of sight, nor does it yet refuse to assume whatever shapes our fear gives it! This, Aachaarya, is the "haze" I spoke of...The haze of UNCERTAINTY in which is shrouded the PURPOSE of all this training, the USE of which alone, we know! (In a tone of summing up) We are play-acting in scenes, Aachaarya, whose every line we KNOW without knowing the PURPORT of THE PLAY! We are walking on paths, Aachaarya, every step of which we KNOW without knowing the PURPOSE of THE JOURNEY!

Drona:	And yet, Gaangeya, it is not for ME to remind YOU that before all (raising his eyes aloft)—HE knows the Purpose of it all, not we! We may, at very best, but labour...no more...and leave the rest to HIM!

Bheeshma:	(In impassioned tones) I was not forgetting it, Aachaarya! But feeling as I do, that the fulfilment or frustration of MY object in my life's labour...the sweetness or bitterness of the fruit of My labour...runs hand in hand with HIS PURPOSE IN MY LABOUR...it is hard Aachaarya, to stifle my qualms for the one and my fears of the other...and give my heart and mind to my labour alone! As for LABOUR by itself! I am no stranger to work...hard work! You do not know my life, Aachaarya!, you are young yet! But you mayhap know OF it: It has been nothing but work, work, work, ALL MY LIFE! Work of no PROFIT to my own self, work of no JOY to my own self—and even the frail delusion that my work has at least been of use to my House—even that is broken! The arduousness of my task hath never yet deterred my hand from my work: The joylessness of it hath never yet abated my ardour in my work; And now even the helplessness of all my efforts ever averting the carnage of cousins that awaits the Kuru Clan, cannot by itself hold me back from my work! But to have inordinately dragged out a hapless life with the avowed purpose of placing my house on a permanent plinth, only to realise at this stage, that every single brick I lay to STRENGTHEN the plinth serves but to DISLODGE several others already laid—and to have yet to continue a task which can end only in razing my House to the ground—is hard, Aachaarya, hard! TO FEEL THAT ONE'S LABOUR IS IN ITSELF THE VERY CAUSE THAT EMBITTERS THE FRUIT OF ONE'S LABOUR AND STILL TO HAVE TO CONTINUE TO LABOUR—is hard, Aachaarya, hard! And yet I somehow feel, that hard as it all is...I must blind my mind to the end of it all and... work... work... work to the very last! You did well in reminding me what I had NOT forgotten: that before all...HE KNOWS THE PURPOSE OF IT ALL! Not we! And now, I will do well to remember what I HAD forgotten; that after all... BITTER OR SWEET, THE FRUIT OF ALL MY LABOUR IS HIS; not mine ! AND WHAT HAS BEEN—WHAT TO THE VERY LAST WILL BE—REALLY MINE IS BUT THE LABOUR... NO MORE! I am now clear, Aachaarya, that it was the pre-assumed ownership of the fruit of my labour—my fancied right to the harvest of my toils, that harboured in me THESE FEELINGS OF JOY & SORROW, HOPE & FEAR, PRIDE AND DESPAIR—FEELINGS that have now perished of themselves...since I have discovered that, IT IS HIS and HIS ALONE TO REAP and MINE BUT TO TILL AND SOW! No more! But whatever be the end of it all, Aachaarya, let it be soon! Do expedite your part of the task! I am tired and want a long and final rest! Now you know, why I was irritated at the tardy progress of your pupils! (His eyes wander and suddenly alight on Arjuna; In a tone of annoyance) Look at Little Arjuna! With his trunk still and stiff as wood he will never shoot without tiring soon! He (Checks himself and smiling apologetically to Drona) Forgive me, Aachaarya, for decrying the efforts of him whom my grandchild SUYODHANA speaks of as your FAVOURITE PUPIL!

Drona:	(Smiling but obviously disturbed) "My Favourite pupil"? But I have no favourite pupil! I have never given the others the least cause to... but... Gaangeya... you understand!

Bheeshma:	I understand, Aachaarya, but I did mention it to point out to you the difficulties in YOUR task! (Laughs and Drona joins)

Drona:	Quite so Gaangeya. you did right!

Bheeshma:	I am wondering, Aachaarya, what upset me this morning! I seemed to have quite lost my temper this morning!

Drona:	(Smiling and feigning astonishment) "Lost your temper"? I did never know that you ever did possess a temper to lose at all!

Bheeshma:	Nor did I, Aachaarya! Yet I seemed to have suddenly grown one and lost it quite as suddenly too! (Both laugh boisterously) I suspect it was The Sabhaa that disturbed my mind this morn!

Drona:	What happened in the Sabhaa this morning?

Bheeshma:	What is it does happen EVERY morning? Talk, talk; nothing but talk; ceaseless senseless, talk and all out of ONE MOUTH all the time! Aachaarya, when a sightless man ever intent on making up for his failing by ceaseless talk insists on his hearers being dumb just when they want to be deaf, it provides an excuse even for a very very old man like me to newly grow a temper and to lose it before he ever makes it his own! (Both laugh)

Drona:	Yes, Gaangeya, that is the Sabhaa today!!

Bheeshma:	(Sighing sadly) Yes, Aachaarya, that is the Sabhaa TODAY! (Stepping back, brings his palms together) Prostrations, Aachaarya and with your permission, I shall join my little ones for a while!

Drona:	(Bowing) Certainly, Gaangeya. You know you are welcome!

BHEESHMA MOVES TO THE MID-GROUND AND JOINS ARJUNA

Arjuna:	(Turning round advances and prostrates himself before Bheeshma) Prostrations, Taataajee!

Bheeshma:	(Raises the boy; throwing both arms round him draws him to himself; kissing his forehead holds him at arm's length, looks him in the eyes and addresses him in breezy notes) Blessings, my budding bowman! But you will never bloom into a better until you better the bearing of your body whilst at bowcraft! How long have you been at it to day? All the morn?

Arjuna:	I started practice but a few ghatikas ago.

Bheeshma:	What? A few ghatikas of practice, and you are gasping for breath already! (Admonishingly) This will never do, Paartha?

Arjuna:	Perhaps Taataajee, I am not strong enough yet to practise longer without tiring! I am sure I'll do better and better each day!

Bheeshma:	No. You will not! At least not while you lay the brunt of your work on just your arms! That's what wearies you so soon!

Arjuna:	But, Taataajee, surely it is the arms that do the work at archery!?

Bheeshma:	Yes, little one, the arms do the work, but not unaided; You must use the weight of your body to save your arms from the full strain of your work.

Arjuna:	(Musing aloud) "Use the weight of my body"? I wonder how?... (With a sudden light of enlightenment in his eyes) I seem to remember Gurujee telling me something about it! But I could not follow him...

Bheeshma:	"Could not follow your Guru"? Perhaps you did not listen to him as closely as you should have done. Do not forget to ask him again, for he can explain far better than I even can! Anyhow, the way to use the weight of your body is not to stand still and stiff as you do whilst at work: you must swing, little one, you must swing, (Taking Arjuna by his shoulders and suiting action to word, swings the boy to and fro) to and fro! The perfect archer's body—whilst at work—swings apace with each draw of string and throw of shaft, as gracefully as a LOTUS NODS SYMPATHY WITH EACH BREATH OF WIND THAT SIGHS ACROSS THE LAKE! You WILL remember this, will you not?

Arjuna:	Yes, Taataajee! Why, I shall HAVE to remember it, as it is my personal ambition to be the most famous archer of all time!

Bheeshma:	(Startled at the word "Personal": With pained face and stern voice) My child, you must avoid altogether all ambitions of a "personal" kind! The man with a personal ambition, brings OUT OF HIMSELF only such and so much of the POWERS WITHIN HIM as will serve to achieve his selfish ends—leaving the rest of the powers within himself to lie still, to lie behind, to lie waste!: He limits, bounds, the work of powers within him, the possibilities of which for the world's good are really boundless limitless! But a thirst for achievement, without any "personal" ambition, when fully staked, brings out all the powers within one's self into full play and to the full profit of the world! The "PERSONALLY" ambitious man, while enriching himself by but a LITTLE that will not be his for long, doth really rob the world of MUCH that is the World's OWN by RIGHT! And that, Paartha, you know, is unrighteous! Is all this clear to you?

Arjuna:	Yes, Taataajee, quite clear. Perhaps I should have been right if I had said that I want to attain perfection at archery?

Bheeshma:	(Smiling) No. you would still have been in the wrong! One never ATTAINS perfection, Paartha! One becomes PERFECTION ITSELF! If perfection existed as something WITHOUT you, OUTSIDE you...you would be right in wanting to run after it to overtake to grasp it, to ATTAIN it! But PERFECTION, Paartha, is WITHIN you, within ME, within EVERY ONE OF US LIVING BEINGS! And knowledge, TRUE KNOWLEDGE, is the means to realize this perfection, to BECOME it, in fact! And the ONE ONE man in this WHOLE WHOLE world who can EDUCATE this... perfection OUT of you—LEAD this perfection OUT of you—into your fully BECOMING it and to the FULL PROFIT TO THE WORLD... is your GURU! (Pointing at Drona) Love HIM; Obey HIM; hang on HIS lips; follow HIS lead! TRUE KNOWLEDGE is too vast and too deep an ocean, Paartha, to fully tread and to fully traverse unaided and unguided by a GURU! Hence, never forget that LOVE TO ONE'S GURU IS THE SOLE WAY TO BECOMING PERFECTION! Am I clear, Paartha?

Arjuna:	Aye, Taataajee!

Bheeshma:	(Stroking the boy's head) That's right, little one! And in the meanwhile, what you do learn... you must learn quickly! And here again LOVE TO ONE'S GURU, WHILST IT WIDENS AND DEEPENS ONE'S LEARNING, ALSO HASTENS THE LEARNING OF IT! So you will so love your Guru as to lose your own self in him, will you not?

Arjuna:	Yes, Taataajee, I will.

Bheeshma:	That's right, my little one; now I must leave you to your work and see what my other little ones are doing!

Arjuna:	(Prostrating) Prostrations, Taataajee!

Bheeshma:	God's Blessings on you, Little one! (Raises the boy; kisses his forehead; sighing deeply and smiling sadly, releases the boy; turning slowly round, stalks dignifiedly towards the background where he is lost to sight amid the crowd of royal youths there.)

Arjuna:	(Raising his voice) GURUJEE!

Drona:	What is it Paartha?

Arjuna:	(Dolefully) I am in trouble, Gurujee!

Drona:	(Irritated) You usually are! What trouble is it this time?

Arjuna:	The old old trouble, Gurujee! Tiredness of my arms very soon after start of practice! Taataajee Bheeshma said something about using the weight of my body to hold my arms...

Drona:	(Stepping up to Arjuna addresses him in a strident voice) "Taataajee Bheeshma said..."! Why, you forgetful boy, I have been dinning the very same thing into your unheeding ears all these months and spent whole days together explaining it all to you and you forget every bit of it and stand before your target just as much of a novice as you were the day you started your archery!

Arjuna:	(Plaintively) Forgive me Gurujee, but I really cannot make out how all the lessons you so kindly teach me... slip out of my mind...

Drona:	YOU CANNOT... Paartha! But I CAN! The true trouble with you is that your AIM is wrong, altogether wrong!

Arjuna:	"My aim wrong"? But I always aim at my target, Gurujee, straight at it!

Drona:	Oh! I am not talking of your aim at your target! I mean the AIM... the MAIN AIM... the MAIN PURPOSE with which you are learning... THAT is what is at fault!

Arjuna:	"My main aim in learning Archery"?... Well...!

Drona:	Your AIM, Paartha, is just this: TO ATTAIN FAME AS AN ARCHER! No more! Every moment you spend at work, your mind is FULLER of thoughts of the DAY WHEN YOU'LL BE ACCLAIM'D AS THE VERY GREATEST ARCHER OF ALL TIMES, than of thoughts of the work itself! Be honest now, and confess that I am right!

Arjuna:	(Dropping his eyes) Yes, Gurujee, you are right.

Drona:	And that is why you're making poor progress: Your mind BRIMFUL OF THOUGHTS OF BUT THE GUERDON FOR YOUR WORK HAS LITTLE ROOM FOR THOUGHTS OF YOUR WORK ITSELF! In sooth, you are a "KAARMI" in the adhama sense of the word!

Arjuna:	(Reiterating) "Kaarmi"...in the adhama sense! What sense, is that Gurujee?

Drona:	KARMANAA SWAARTHAHA... a man whose labour is no more but MEANS to GAIN HIS SELFISH ENDS! If I had started MY bowcraft at the feet of my Guru with that aim... I should have never learnt to lift a bow, let alone how shoot a bolt!

Arjuna:	But Gurujee, I seem to remember having heard you speak of your own self as a "Kaarmi" too?

Drona:	Yes, but that was in the 'madhyama sense'! KARMA EVA ARTHAHA; He whose labour IS IN ITSELF THE END AND AIM of his labour!

Arjuna:	And even that is only the madhyama sense? Is there then, an uttama sense to the word, Gurujee?

Drona:	Yes! KARMANAA PARAARTHAHA: He whose one aim in his labour is that OTHERS MIGHT REAP THE HARVEST OF HIS TOILS WITHOUT THE LEAST PROFIT TO HIMSELF! This, Paartha, is the RIGHTEOUS AIM.

Arjuna:	I quite understand, Gurujee! And yet I cannot but feel and think that for one to toil and moil all one's life only that others might reap the harvest WITHOUT THE LEAST PROFIT TO ONE'S OWN SELF...however righteous it sounds...seems so unreasonable...cruel...does it not, Gurujee?

Drona:	(Shocked) "Unreasonable"? "Cruel"? Paartha... RIGHTEOUSNESS is ruled neither by KINDNESS nor REASON! (Stares at Arjuna for fully a moment, sighs deeply and resumes in a most earnest voice) Perhaps it is yet too early in your life for me to speak to you of this... but... but... nevertheless mark my words and indite them indelibly in your mind! If ever in your after life it is given to you to creep close enough to RIGHTEOUSNESS, you will then r e a l i s e , Paartha, that when RIGHTEOUSNESS rules rampant, REASON grovels in the dust! When RIGHTEOUSNESS sits the Throne... A KING!,... REASON starves, shamed and unmanned: An EXILE! You will THEN realise, Paartha, that RIGHTEOUSNESS is neither Right nor yet Wrong: neither Kind nor yet Cruel... but that RIGHTEOUSNESS is BUT JUST STRONG—IMPREGNABLY... INEXORABLY STRONG! (Carried away by the intensity of the emotion that has apparently mastered him for the moment, he grasps Arjuna by the shoulders and shaking him in the manner of a lion...an impudent... fox... thunders out) YOU POOR SELF-OBSESSED CHILD, YOU WILL THEN REALISE THAT RIGHTEOUSNESS IS GOD! (Overwhelmed by Drona's outburst, Arjuna shudders in fear: Drona gradually recovers his equanimity, releases hold of Arjuna and steps back a pace; Affected by Arjuna's object and cowed mien, resumes in a palliative tone) I am sorry, Paartha, if I have bewildered and overwhelmed you! But then, it teaches you the sacrilege of speaking lightly of subjects far far above your yet young head! Now, let us to work. If you have grasped now at least that to excel in archery... you must give your ears entirely to my words, your eyes to your target, your frame and limbs to your bow and shaft, and your unruffled mind to all the three... all this talk of mine will not have been in vain! Now, let me watch you shoot as you have been doing all this morning... that I may see all your errors that want correcting. And once again, do not forget: your whole mind is drowned in archery; your eyes are riveted to the target and your ears glued to my voice and your frame and limbs feel but your bow-bowstring-and shaft! Now start!

[Arjuna starts on his task, his torso and limbs as stiff and taut as before; Drona is engrossed in closely watching him; UNNOTICED BY EITHER, EKALAVYA enters on the left at the foremost part of the fore-ground]

Ekalavya:	(Looking all around him) This DOES look like the place Mother spoke of: "A wide vast grassy play ground with bejewelled and beautifully dressed handsome young princes at bow sword and mace exercises... being taught their lessons by a tall and noble looking Brahmana" is how SHE described it! And it all fits in every bit! (His eyes rest on Drona and Arjuna; Startled at the sight, he speaks to himself in notes of consternation) Oh! Surely THAT cannot be the Great Dronaachaarya who is to help me become the greatest archer in the world! Why, his pupil is shooting in worse style then even a novice, and the tutor is watching him without a murmur of protest. No no! He IS saying something!! (Inclines his ear to catch Drona's words to Arjuna)

Drona:	As you are now shooting, Paartha, you are holding your body stiff; toe to neck, stiff... inert... as IRON! whilst most of the time it must be pliant... supple as STEEL! Now listen: With your feet fixed firmly on the ground, but your heels off it your two legs must pass and re-pass the weight of your body from foot to foot which while your frame should swing fore, back, and fore again timing ITS swings with throw of body weight, draw of string, and release of shaft. Now try and put my words into practice. (Arjuna tries with but indifferent success; Drona watches him with an annoyed look on his face)

Ekalavya:	(With a fascinated look) Oh! Wonderful! It might be HE after all! (Stops and stoops to listen again)

Drona:	No, Paartha, you are not righted yet! Let me go over it all once again in detail! (Approaches his pupil and resumes in a slow and convincing manner particularising each practical detail at length) Now first stand with your left foot in front! (Ekalavya in the foreground—out of earshot of the other two—still unnoticed by them, follows the whole series of the movements as dictated by Drona as faithfully as Arjuna himself) Raise the heels of both feet: now rest the whole of your weight on on your fore foot – the left; and now bend your head, neck and body forward that is right! Extend your left arm, the hand grasping the bow firmly; extend the right arm, the thumb grasping the string firmly, the fingers gripping both the string and the butt of the shaft placed in position on the string. Now retain that position until you have fully memorised it. (Pauses for fully a minute) You have? Now then, instead, as you have hitherto been doing, of bending JUST your right arm to draw the string, SWING BACK YOUR TRUNK, NECK AND HEAD as you are drawing the string—TIMING BOTH THESE MOVEMENTS WITH THE PASSING OF YOUR WEIGHT FROM YOUR FORE-FOOT – the left TO YOUR HIND FOOT – the right! (Arjuna—before Drona's eyes, and Ekalavya—behind Drona's back strictly follow Drona's instructions) That is correct! Now repeat the movements over and over again till you have mastered every detail and made it all your very very own! (Arjuna does accordingly)

Ekalavya:	(As he—unnoticed—follows the movements; in tones of ecstasy) Of course, this MUST BE THE GREAT DRONAACHAARYA! Who else could in a few moments and with a few words turn a novice into a good archer! That boy, Paartha, looks a skilful archer already! Why, I am better myself for listening to him and following his w o r d s! (Instinctively following Arjuna's suit, goes once again through the movements... desisting... with a ring of conviction in his voice) HOW EASY HE MAKES IT ALL! YES, THE SWINGING OF ONE'S BODY DOES HELP THE ARM AND TIRES IT LESS!! One can shoot almost a whole day without tiring! Hark! The great man speaks! I must not miss a word!

Drona:	(Watching Arjuna with a satisfied look) Yes, that is faultless. Now, tell me, Paartha, how big is the tree that your target is swung from?

Arjuna:	(Without looking up and still going through his movements) Tree? I see no tree! I only see a black spot... the centre of my target.

Drona:	Does the clash of swords from your far side disturb you at all?

Arjuna:	(Still intent on his work) Clash? I hear no clash I only hear a voice... your voice...

Drona:	Is this strong Sunshine tiring You?

Arjuna:	(Still absorbed in his work and without looking up) I do not know! I cannot tell! I only feel the smarting rub of the bowstring on my arm!

Drona:	(Clapping his hands) This is splendid! You can stop now and rest awhile! (Arjuna leaves his practice)

Arjuna:	But tell me, Gurujee, what made the tree invisible to my eyes whilst I was practising? I can now see both the trees and the target!

Drona:	(Smiling) Do you not yet know? Well then, what made you deaf to the loud clash of swords from yonder? You can hear them now! Again, what made you callous to the powerful sun rays that are scorching the very ground we stand upon? IT IS NO LESS A THING THAN CONCENTRATION!; AN ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY ELEMENT TO ONE'S PROGRESS IN ANY STUDY. And the perfect archer, if he is really CONCENTRATING can see nothing but his target; hear nothing but the swish of his shaft; feel nothing but the rub of bowstring on his arm; think nothing but thoughts of his Guru! THIS IS CONCENTRATION! Paartha!

Ekalavya:	(Reiterating with effort) CON... CEN... TRA... TION... is it? I must remember that! He speaks! (Listens again)

Drona:	Now that you have mastered the correct movements in archery and also proved your ability to concentrate, I am more hopeful of making a useful archer of you than I ever was!

Arjuna:	"Useful Archer"? Why, Gurujee, I want to become the greatest archer in the world!

Ekalavya:	(Sotto Voce) WHAT, HE TOO? What is his reason... I wonder?

Drona:	I do not see why you should not become the greatest archer in the world, Paartha!, as hereafter, it is all in your own hands.

Ekalavya:	(Sotto Voce) If in his own hands... perhaps in mine own too!

Arjuna:	You mean, Gurujee, that with correct movements and with ability to concentrate, anyone can become the greatest archer in the world!

Drona:	No, Paartha, a deep and fervent love for one's guru is also an essential element!

Arjuna:	Of course you know I love you, Gurujee!

Ekalavya:	(Unhesitatingly) And I adore him too!

Drona:	In your own interests, Paartha, I hope that you do love me!

Arjuna:	Then Gurujee, these three things ensure perfection in archery, do they not?

Drona:	By no means, Paartha! There is yet another element equally essential; but in your own case it goes without saying that you fully possess it!

Ekalavya:	(Bewildered) YET ANOTHER ELEMENT? And that boy fully possesses it? I wonder what it is! Perhaps I possess it too!

Arjuna:	What is the fourth element, Gurujee?

Drona:	The fourth necessary factor, Paartha, is a whole-hearted willingness on the part of the guru to teach his pupil! In your case you have fully possessed it since the very moment you started tuition under me; (stroking Arjuna's head) You know, I love to teach you! Now that you are equipped with a complete mastery over the GROUNDWORK of archery, a full command of concentration whilst at work, a fervent devotion to your Guru and his love to teach you... practice, assiduous practice, will complete your bowmanship!

Ekalavya:	(Dolefully) So it is not all in my hands after all! His love to teach me! That is the 'element' I want! "A whole-hearted willingness on the part of the guru to teach his pupil" is how he described it! Hark! (Listens again)

Arjuna:	Oh yes, "Practice" of course! And in the manner that you taught me just now!... Is that what you call "THE GROUNDWORK" of archery, Gurujee?

Drona:	Yes, the GROUNDWORK! The FOUNDATION to be prescribed for the pupil and instilled into him under the guidance of his Guru; and it involves: a correct stance of the body at the outset; a correct mode of addressing the target; a correct sequence of movements of the trunk head and limbs in drawing the bowstring; and lastly a correct poise of delivering in the aiming and release of the shaft, there, you have it all! And you have laid for yourself the necessary foundation by your work this morning.

Ekalavya:	(With a wry face) SO HAVE I... for that matter! But of what use is it all to me if I do not win his love to teach me! "Necessary Element" he called it!

Arjuna:	Now that I p o s s e s s all the elements necessary, you will make me the greatest archer in all the world, will you not, Gurujee?

Drona:	(Smiling) I will, Paartha!

Arjuna:	Is that a promise, Gurujee?

Drona:	Why, of course it is!!

Arjuna:	(Clapping his hands) That is splendid! I must run away and tell the good news to everybody! (Prances triumphantly away towards the crowd of boys in the background)

Ekalavya:	(Sotto Voce) His “love to to teach me"! That is the "element" I lack! The rest is all in my hands! (A look of doubt overspreads his face) But I fear he will never take me as his pupil! He will mayhap think that I am not fit to be a fellow-pupil of these princes! (Looks around and watches the princes who are all departing for their mid-day ablutions by an egress in the background) Why, I myself FEEL too ragged and small for this big beautiful place! And I am sure I LOOK it too!, amidst these gay-dressed and jewelled princes! But SOMEHOW I must win his love to teach me! Frightened as I am, I MUST WALK UP TO HIM AND ASK HIM! (Looking tremulously at Drona) I wonder how I DARE! He looks so big and so noble! (His face gradually assumes a determined look and his eyes harden) BUT I MUST DARE! I MUST DARE ANYTHING TO SAVE MY POOR LITTLE FAWNS! (With a sudden gleam in his eyes) I HAVE IT! I shall tell him WHY I want to become the greatest archer in the world! He has a kind face and I am sure he loves poor harmless and helpless animals! Who does not? The reason of that boy Paartha, whatever it is, cannot be nobler than mine! (In a decisive voice) I shall speak to him! He is alone...and fortunately... smiling! (Approaches Drona somewhat "gingerly"; on Drona's turning his way prostrates himself at Drona's feet) Prostrations to you, sir!

Drona:	(Bending and raising the boy) God's Blessings on you, little man! What can I do for you?

Ekalavya:	(Encouraged to almost elation) A SMALL FAVOUR, SIR! Are you not the GREAT Dronaachaarya, Sir?

Drona:	I AM Dronaachaarya; but why "The Great"? (Smiles broadly)

Ekalavya:	I do not know, Sir. But my mother called you "Great"!

Drona:	"Your MOTHER"?... Well, what is this "small favour" that you spoke of?

Ekalavya:	Will you kindly help me become the greatest archer in the world, sir?

Drona:	(Startles at the question; the palpable naivety of the boy amuses him) What? A rival to Paartha? (Laughs outright) It seems to me that every boy on earth wants to become the greatest archer in the world!!! (Bursts into a loud guffaw)

Ekalavya:	(With earnest eyes and tremulous lips) Why do you laugh, Sir, may I ask?

Drona:	You may, little man! I am laughing at the easy, simple manner you are asking for what certainly is NOT THE SMALL favour you first spoke of! Surely you are not serious?

Ekalavya:	But, Sir, I AM serious! MOST SERIOUS!!

Drona:	(Studying the boy for fully a minute) I daresay you are! But anyhow who are you? What is your name? Who is your father? Of what caste are you?

Ekalavya:	(Draws us his little form proudly) My name is Ekalavya, Sir. My father was Hiranya Dhanus, the chief... the great chief ... the greatest chief that ever was of all the Nishadas...

Drona:	(In an undertone) The chief of Nishadas? So you are a Nishada? No wonder you are serious about your bowmanship! (Casting a casual glance almost unconsciously at the mid and backgrounds) But my little man... (Shaking his head unmistakably) I am afraid I cannot...

Ekalavya:	(Suddenly interrupting him... and in a piteous tone) Forgive me, Sir, but I think I know what you are afraid of! You are afraid, Sir, that because I am a Nishada, I want to hurt innocent people for plunder and kill innocent creatures for my food... with the archery that you may teach me! But believe me, Sir, ever since father was killed, Mother and I live in a lone forest and though it is full of birds, deer and fawns... we live only upon grains, milk and fruit!

Drona:	(In a kindly tone) No, my little man, I was not thinking of quite all that! (Affected by the boy's woe-begone face approaches him and stroking his head gently) Poor little man! So you lost your father so early in life! And you live alone with your mother in a forest? Poor little man! But then why ARE you so anxious to become the greatest archer in the world? You spoke of your father as having been killed! Is this archery you want to learn, by any means to help you avenge his death?

Ekalavya:	NO, Sir, NOT AT ALL! Father was killed in fair fight whilst battling bravely for his king! EVERYBODY SAYS HE DIED A GALLANT WARRIOR'S DEATH!... But I, Sir, I MUST become the greatest archer in all this world... because... because... (Looking into Drona's eyes with pleading light in his own) It is all a long.. long... sad... sad story sir... and you seem and speak so kindly. Sir, that I feel I must tell it all to you, Sir... if... if you will only give me a few moments of your time! It means... much... so very much to me, Sir!

Drona:	(Overcome by the boy's manner) Why certainly, my little man, tell me your story by all means. But first let me see? (Looks around and notices the NOW empty playground) Yes, my forenoon's work is over and my time is my own for quite a while... and it is all yours too... but first, let us find a shady place to sit (Leads the boy to a neighbouring shady tree and seats himself) Sit down. little man! (as Ekalavya squats on his knees) There, that's better! NOW, for your long, long, sad, sad, story, little man! (Smiles benevolently)

Ekalavya:	(Anxious and excited) It is all like this, Sir... (sotto voce) Where was I?... (Aloud) Oh, Yes! As I told you before, sir, mother and I live by our two selves in a little forest a long long way from here... three days and three nights of walking, to be exact. Now, next to our forest sir, is another little forest in which in a hermitage lives a Rishi. And wolves, sir, hundreds of them cruelly maul and slay the deer and fawns in our forest and meanly run for shelter into the Rishi's forest; and there, sir, would you believe it Sir... Instead of killing and hurting the deer and fawns THERE, they actually play with the fawns and suckle them too! When I spoke to mother of the cruelty of the wolves to OUR deer and fawns and their KINDNESS to the deer and fawns in the Rishi's hermitage... mother said that all this was through no kindness at all of the wolves whose cruel nature was always the same, but that it was the power of the "tapas" of the Rishi that curbed the cruel nature of the wolves for JUST THE TIME THE WOLVES WERE IN HIS FOREST! And when I wondered if this Rishi could be begged of, to use his power in our forest to free OUR deer and fawns from hurt, mother said that his power could NOT act OUTSIDE HIS OWN HERMITAGE! And when I again asked her... (suddenly dropping his voice) Am I boring you, Sir?

Drona:	(Starting... and striking Ekalavya's head) No no! you are not! Go on! I am interested! Do go on!

Ekalavya:	(Sighing relievedly) Thank you, Sir! You are very kind! But where was I? Oh. Yes! And when I asked mother how I could myself acquire this wonderful power... she said "not in this life of yours... as you are a Nishaada by birth! But if you live this life of yours as befits your caste... then you may in some future life be born as an Arya like our neighbour – and acquire Tapas like him"! And when I asked her if the deer and fawns in our forest should keep on being killed until I was born an Arya in some future life – she said "No! You may, if you can, in this life of yours protect your deer and fawns as befits your caste by slaying the wolves... and you will be storing Tapas as well"... RAKSHAA YOGA – she called it sir... the merit of protecting the helpless weak against hurt and death from the strong and cruel! she explained it to mean, Sir! Then, Sir, a wonderful thought came into my head and I said "Why then, if in this life alone, I slay all the wolves in all the forests in the whole world... then all the deer and fawns and all other innocent creatures will be free from fear of hurt and death; and besides I shall in THIS life even as a Nishada, be greater than any Aryan rishi who can protect the weaklings ONLY in his forest!!" She said: "You will! But to be able to kill ALL THE WOLVES IN ALL THE FORESTS IN ALL THIS WORLD, you will surely have to be THE VERY GREATEST ARCHER OF ALL MEN ON EARTH! And there is only ONE MAN that can help you become that! And that is the GREAT DRONAACHAARYA"! And she told me too, Sir! how to get here to get at you! Now you see Sir, why I want to... Will you... help me... sir?

Drona:	(As Ekalavya relates his story, Drona's face assumes successive looks of: Curiosity-interest-solicitude-pity-admiration-amazement, love and finally of DEEP REVERENCE! As the boy comes to the end of his story Drona gazes for moments together into Ekalavya's eyes... and mumbles under his breath) KARMANAA PARAARTHAHA! AND HE, A NISHAADA! WONDERFUL!!!!!

Ekalavya:	(Overhearing the last two words) Yes, Sir, I AM a nishaada! What is there wonderful in it, sir? (On getting no reply from Drona) Forgive me, Sir, but, may I ask what you are thinking of?

Drona:	You may, little man! I am thinking of YOU... YOUR CASTE... and YOUR AMBITION!

Ekalavya:	(In tearful despair) Do not think of ME sir! For if you only think of me... and my low caste... and my ambition as being above my blood and birth, sir... you may perhaps not want to teach me! BUT THINK OF THE POOR FAWNS, Sir! Think of them... night and day in terror of the wolves! They go hungry many a day as they dare not go far in search of grass for fear of the wolves! When they are parched with thirst, they dare not go near the brooks for fear of the wolves that lie in wait! Even at night, sir, the wolves steal into their midst under cover of darkness and steal away the little ones! Mother and I hardly rest at nights as the death cries of the fawns and the helpless groans of the mothers keep us awake all nights! (Breaks down in grief; looks away for a few moments and manfully driving away his tears, resumes) It was all different Sir, when father was alive! HE COULD KILL THE WOLVES AND KEEP THEM ALL AWAY! But he died, Sir, before he could teach me to use a bow! I HAVE TRIED HARD... EVER SO HARD, SIR, TO LEARN BY MYSELF... BUT IT DOES SEEM NOT POSSIBLE, SIR, TO LEARN ALL BY ONE'S OWN SELF! IF you will only think of the poor poor deer and fawns, Sir, I am sure you will make up your mind to teach me! Besides, I have forgot to tell you Sir, that when I told mother that you may not like to teach me, a nishaada, when you had rich princes for your pupils, she said that you would gain more by teaching me than you would by teaching the princes... as a good part of the "TAPAS" I would be storing all my life, would of right go to you as my Guru... and that being a Brahmana, you would prefer "TAPAS" as fee to all the rich jewels and wealth your prince-pupils may give you! (Anxiously) So... will... you...? (Seeing a thoughtful look in Drona’s face lie leaves the question unfinished; at this stage unnoticing these & unnoticed by these, Arjuna enters and resumes his work with bow and shafts.)

Drona:	(Sighing deeply and in a tone of intense regret) I am very sorry, my little man, but I have now well over a hundred pupils on my hands! And I have undertaken their training! Perhaps when I have finished here...

Ekalavya:	(Whose eyes have been wandering over the mid-and back-grounds suddenly interrupts Drona in a cry almost of despair) Finish here! But, sir, you NEVER WILL FINISH HERE! Why, look at that boy you called Paartha! (Points at Arjuna) He has got his heels DOWN!!, while they should really be OFF THE GROUND!

Drona:	(Startled, looks round and annoyed at sight of Arjuna) Yes, you are right! But why do YOU think the heels should be OFF THE GROUND!?

Ekalavya:	Why else, Sir, but to pass and re-pass the weight of the body from foot to foot... this wise! (Goes through the movements)

Drona:	(Amazed at the boy's performance) Why, my little man, you are well-grounded in archery already! You certainly are not the novice you made yourself out to me to be! Now, if your poor father was slain in battle before he could teach you archery you surely DID NOT LEARN ALL THIS BY YOUR OWN SELF?

Ekalavya:	No, Sir, of course not! I did not know any of it when I came here a while ago! I came in while you were teaching that boy Paartha... and over-hearing your words I almost unknowingly followed the movements – (anxiously) I... hope... I have done no wrong Sir!

Drona:	(Sotto Voce) WONDERFUL! (Aloud) Wrong? No, No, not at all!

Ekalavya:	(Pointing out Arjuna again) Look, Sir, he is bending far enough back! And besides... well... you will never finish here, Sir, for the boy Paartha will never improve!

To be continued...

A Monologue

2008-09-10T02:00:00.000-07:00

(These scenes, these words, you've seen, you've heard)

-As the curtain rises, found entered-
The Man in the Foreground

(Enter R, a little child sobbing over a broken doll)

The Man

Don't cry little child, don't cry!
They have broken your doll, I know!
Your playhouse new, this dolly too
Are things of the long ago!
These Childish troubles will soon go by,
And Books and Pictures will soon come by;
So there, little child, don't cry.

[Leads the child and gently pushes her out - L]

(Enter R, a little girl sobbing over a broken Slate and tattered Picture Books)

The Man

Don't cry little girl, don't cry!
They have broken your slate, I know!
And your picture books, your chubby looks
Are things of long ago!
These sad wild ways
Of school-girl days
Will soon be things of the long ago
And silks and gems will soon come by
So there, little girl don't cry!

[Girl exits -L]

(Enter R, a maid in Grey sobbing over a broken necklace)

The Man

Don't cry little maid, don't cry!
They have broken your necklace, I know!
And your silken things, you gem-set rings
Are things of th' long ago!
But these were made t' be seen and hurled:
Th' glittering tinsels of a passing world!
Why, Life and Love, will soon come by:
So there, little maid, don't cry.

[Maid exits -L]

(Enter R, a Young woman in widow's robe)

The Man

Don't cry little woman, don't cry!
They have broken your heart, I know!
And the rainbow gleams
O' your Love's young dreams,
Are things of th' long ago!
Fate turn'd your short liv'd joy to dull despair!
And bid you tread this darken'd world alone!
You pass through life, hopeless and desolate,
Your Love: the memory of a star eclips'd!
It is not given to every one of us Little Woman
To bask in the brilliance of the dawn, or to revel
In the splendour of the noon of the day of our life!
But we shall All find, if only we will. a sweet calm sunset
And of peaceful blessedness at the end of this day of our Life!
And peace, no more but peace, is all yours! And
After the end of this day of your life...? ...
...Why! Heaven holds all for which you sigh!
So there Little Woman, don't cry! Don't cry!

[Young Woman exits]

CURTAIN

*Woman the Eternal sufferer and
Man the conventional consoler*

The Lake

2008-09-10T01:48:00.000-07:00

WHEN Night had wav'd her magic wand
And bid the Moon awake
the Moonbeams 'lighted hand in hand
Upon a lonely Lake.

And as their tiny twinkling feet
Dip, trip and skip in glee,
The Lake in mournful tone did greet
Her guests so gay and free:

"You're welcome friends," the Lake did say
"To find happiness,
On what there is of me to day!
Tomorrow I'll be less!"

"Oh, shame! But why?" the Beams did pause
To ask in sympathy;
"Kind friends you'll hardly guess the cause
That's slowly killing me!"

"On less and less of me each night
Your feet will trip and tread!
And one sad night your steps will 'light
On just my clayey bed!"

"Oh cruel, sad! It can't be right!"
The Beams vowed tearfully;
"Do let us know please of your plight!
We'd like to, awfully!"

"Not very long ago
You'll scarcely believe me,
This mouldy muddy mass of woe
Was not me really!

"A bluer hue of blue was I
Than blue of sky or sea;
Each fleecy cloud that floated by
I mirror'd faithfully;

"And graceful swans with necks of snow
On me did glide and race;
And lilies white, gold, pink did blow
Upon my limpid face!

"And Sun and Moon! Stars big and wee
And things that bide the Earth,
Came night and day to bathe in me
And praise my worth and birth!

"Though bless'd in ev'ry way to live
In happy calm content,
My mind did now and then misgive
My heart with resentment:

"Whilst ev'rything above, around
Could run or swim or soar,
My wretched lot did keep me bound
To banks for evermore!

"The very stars and clouds so free
I mirror'd faithfully,
Did seem to mock imprison'd me;
Oh! How I shrieked to flee!

"This yearn for freedom set my heart
Abrooding night and day;
And moodily I played my part
To guests that came my way.

"Though kind alike to ev'ry guest
Polite to ev'ry one,
Ere long, I grew to like one best,
Mad fool! I lov'd the Sun!

"I don't know if you know Love's way?
It's dreadful, really!
In chips you fling your heart away
For chunks of misery!

"Why! Lambs that tickle a tiger's side
And moths that flirt with flames
Are wise without a doubt beside
The mug that plays Love's games!

"In Love's deft hands I was clay
Forgetting wrong and right;
I hugg'd and kiss'd the Sun all day
And dream'd of him all night!

"His boiling hug and burning kiss
Did thrill me all ablaze,
And things around seem'd in my bliss
But shadows in a haze!

"Mad giddy chump! I little guess'd
I'd live to rue the day
I fell in love, nor had assess'd
The price I'd have to pay!

"For when I woke from Love's mad dream
I found to my dismay
My mossy velvet banks did seem
Mud-brown and miles away!

"My water's hue, a blue no more
Had turn'd a clammy green!
Of swans and bathers, shore to shore
Not e'en a sign was seen!

"My lilies white, gold, pink and blue-
Alas! I weep to state-
Were boil'd burn'd and turn'd to stew!
My Love had seal'd their fate!

"And even Pigs that pass my way,
Say 'We're afraid it's time
We went around elsewhere to play:
Why, this is worse than slime!'

"Thus loath'd and lonely brink to brink
I weep in misery
Against the day my Love will drink
What little's left of me!"

Whilst thus in woe the Lake poured out
Her piteous history,
Sore helplessly she look'd about
As though for sympathy!

But strange to say, to her dismay
The Moonbeams did but grin!
And peal on peal of laughter gay
Did fill the air with din!

The Lake enrag'd thro' wounded pride
Remark'd in caustic tone:
"I'm glad my plight doth well provide
My guests with food for fun!"

The Beams forthwith with looks contrite
Suppress'd their ill-tim'd mirth,
But said "Dear Lake, we're sure you're quite
The blindest thing on earth!

"You little guess'd we Beams so gay
That prance on you by night
Are but the Sun's hot rays by day
That brought you to this plight!

"The Sun you love so faithfully
Doth love thee too, dear friend,
And day by day works manfully
Your prison'd state to end!

"And drop by drop he drinks his love
To carry her on high
Until amidst the clouds above
A cloud she'll roam the sky!

"And far and wide, and high and low,
You'll wander gay and free;
'Tis then dear Lake you'll surely know
How true the Sun loves thee!

"And then, somewhen, like things possess'd
For long do cloy at last,
Your yearn to flee, which once obsess'd
Your heart and mind, dies fast;

"And thoughts of happy nights and days
You spent as Lake on earth
Return, and turn your heart Earthways;
Again you'll take your birth!

"As some huge sea, Earthbound but free
To heave and roll your fill,
Bounded by banks but built by thee
To break or make at will!

"On moonlit nights as bright as this
Your mem'ry will awake
To other moonlit nights of bliss
You spent on Earth as Lake!

"With joyous hiss, rejoicing roar,
You'll seethe and shoot on high
To greet us Beams your friends of yore
Ere e'en we quit the sky!

"And thus you see you are, dear Lake,
Not what you think you are:
'Tis lilies, swans and banks that make
You feel a lake, and bar!

"The light to know thyself as One
Not Lake nor Cloud nor Sea
But each a guise You will to don
To hid Thyself from Thee!

"But lo! Thy love doth mount the East
And lures us from the Moon
To light and warm earth, plant and beast
And free you too ere noon!"

And as they spoke, the Beams did turn
To blinding scorching rays
That set about the lake to burn
Her free of 'prison'd days.

The Burden

2008-09-09T23:30:00.000-07:00

A Playlet of THE RAAMAAYANA

Personae:

BHARATA	}	Princes of Kosala
SATRUGHNA	}	Princes of Kosala
VASISHTHA		Priest to the Royal House

ANGA	}	Aged Chamberlains-at-court
VANGA	}	Aged Chamberlains-at-court
		Other servitors at the Palace

Place:
A Corridor in the Palace

Period:
Ayodhya Kaanda of the RAAMAAYANA

Time:
Early Night

Place

"The King's Walk" : a corridor - Dim lit

[Enter : Bharata and Satrughna travel-begrimed]

Bharata:	(rubbing his eyes with the backs of his hands) Oh, the dust! The blinding dust!... To watch the fleetest steeds in all the land sniff up that red ribbon of a road from uncle's here, did bring elation to my heart; but to mine eyes, the dust!, makes e'en the King's own walk seem dimly lit!

Satrughna:	(apprehensively) "Seem dimly lit?" But Bharata, it is dim lit...I fear'd it would be so!

Bharata:	You fear'd it? How?

Satrughna:	Intent on steering fleetsome steeds through surging streets, thine eyes did miss what mine descried: 'Twas bleak and blear our way through Ayodhya; methought the people glared at us...their looks unwelcome, callous, cold! e'en condemning;...and here...our father's favourite walk all gloomy clammy! Bharata, I feel so strangely frighted!

Bharata:	Affrighted! You! (laughing) Well art thou named Dread Satrughna! A terror to thine enemies without a doubt; but thou art ev'n a bigger one to thine own self! The people's glare forsooth! Perchance the rains have held off hereabout and grains are scare; bare stomachs lend but poor succur to muster smiles of welcome! Or mayhap the chase hath lur'd our Rama to the wilds and cozened poor Ayodhya's eyes of wonted feast!... But why... the King's Walk dimly lit? Perchance the King's away!...but where away?...He has not been away this long long while...and then 'twas Indra;...I have it! 'Tis Sakra with his cousins rampant, raging...hath slyly snar'd the king to battle for him as once he did before of yore! You know the story?

Satrughna:	Aye. I've heard my elders tell of it; I've heard tell too 'twas our Little Queen-Mother Kaikeyee that with her daring sav'd the Devas from disaster!

Bharata:	(in alarm)...She will be away too! With her beloved lord at battle, she would not lag behind; my mother cannot breathe beyond the king's side! And what of Rama? With his mighty arm a twitch to draw bow at the king's side, he would not laze at home nor would Mahendra let him, and, Lakshmana? But why let our fears father sombre thoughts; 'tis easily known...(aloud) What ho! Without!

Anga:	(entering) Your Commands, Sire!

Bharata:	(to Satrughna) He takes me for the king! And to his age dimmed eyes, this gloom doth lend but poor succour. (to Anga) I'm Bharata, my lord!

Anga:	I knew it Sire!

Bharata:	'Sire' again! His ears have gone too the way of his eyes...past sensing! Poor ancient! And yet I've heard tell, brother, that in his prime, his lordship had the straightest back of any that drew bow in the King's Guard! And at chase, his lordship could see farther, hear sharper than any that went hunt with the King! And now, 'tis this!' 'Tis a sin to grow old. Saumitri, one really must not!

Satrughna:	(smiling) But, Bharata, 'tis Time's edict that one must grow old if one will live long!

Anga:	(stragglingly and incoherently) The King...my liege...is the Prince...is...

Bharata:	(impatiently) Nay! 'tis dotage dulls his senses and we but waste our time! (aloud) Forgive us, m'lord but we would to our royal brother Rama... (attempts to walk past Anga)

Anga:	(feebly attempting to restrain Bharata) Nay, Sire!...the King...the Prince...the Princess...Heavens...I can...no...more! (falls forward)

Bharata:	(catching him in his arms) Poor ancient! He will brush aside his king's behest to forbear from work and rest his limbs sore tried in the service of the Estate. Why, he has fainted dead away! Help, Saumitri ... (The brothers carry him to a couch)...gently...(they lay him on it: Bharatha in a loud voice) What ho! Without! More lights ho! This gloom is maddening! (Enter a number of courtiers: also servants bearing lamps and torches, with Vanga at their head. Bharata pointing to the couch) Look to his lordship, my lords!

Vanga:	(approaching the couch) Aye, Sire!

Bharata:	"Sire" again! Am I awake or are we all possessed? What does it all mean, Saumitri?

Satrughna:	I do not know, Bharata, I cannot tell; but I feel, it all portends some disaster that has befallen us!

Bharata:	Disaster! The Gods forbid! (to Vanga) How doth his lordship, my lord?

Vanga:	(approaching) But poorly, Sire! We have but ill hopes of his lordship's mending, and fear his scant breath portends his fast-approaching last!

Bharata:	Poor ancient! Send for his kin; and the physicians too! (approaching the couch seats himself by the prone man; running his hand gently over the old man's brow, in a soothing tone) How is it with thee, my lord!?

Anga:	(Opening his eyes which have a blear far-away look in them) Oh! That I the hoariest in all Ayodhya, that I should have lived to see what I have seen and not died ere the king died! Oh, that I should have lived to see the great king's death, the princes banished! God...punish...the wicked...queen!

Bharata:	(aloud, in alarm) What horror is this?

Anga:	(looking at Bharata with intelligent eyes) The boy king! (Laying his hand on the prince's head) Forgive me, sire; as child and boy, as youth and man, all your life I've known Your Majesty. The kingship's trust, Ayodhya's weal were ne'er in safer hands. And blessing you, I die my liege. May God forgive the thoughtless queen whose only sin was nature 'cited love of dam for son! (falls back dead)

Bharata:	(reverently closing the dead eyes, stands up;... in dignified tones) My lords, his lordship of Anga's valiant and upright soul hath found its well-earned rest at last? (to Vanga) His lordship's kin arrived yet? (some one exits) Saumitri, our king father will sorely miss his tried friend and thane! But, what of his ranting? 'Twas no less; you heard it all: he called me boy-king! And did speak of a great king that died; a banished prince: his mother wicked with "nature 'cited love of dam for son!" What king? When died? And wherefore the banishment of the prince her son if the queen the mother loved him? And whence again the "wickedness" of love of dam for son if "nature 'cited?"...I've heard tell brother, that as the soul parts company with its ancient henchman the body, the mind in its final flutter conjures up lights and sights free of sway of reason and rakes up and spreads out in new shapes scenes of old happenings buried deep 'neath the ken of sane remembrance; Perhaps in his lordship's long-lived life, the horrors of the happenings of some royal house, left a wound so deep and so poorly healed, the cicatrice broke anew at his last breath and swayed his tongue! Why! you, my lord of Vanga, his lordship's co eval, peer in rank, comrade in arms and friend of youth and prime, you of any here should wot if aught of sense or truth there was in his lordship's last mutterings!? Was there ever a king died in his lordship's life time? (Vanga drops his eyes) Why! Whence this silence? Was I not understood? Speak, my lord, I charge thee!

Vanga:	(in distracted tone...aside) The Gods help me! (aloud) Aye. Sire, there was a king that died during his lordship of Anga's lifetime!

Bharata:	There was!? "Great King" he called him; was he, this king that died, as great as our dread Lord? Could not be! And what of a prince banished? And a wicked queen mother too; what of her? (Vanga and the other courtiers, with heaving bosoms look away; Bharata astonished at their behaviour laughs sardonically) Without a doubt, brother mine, they are all possessed! (turning round, notices Satrughna, a prey to his own premonitions, has buried his face in his hands) What!? You too!? What ails thee, Saumitri? (approaching him, shakes him gently) Come man, come!

Satrughna:	(agonised in face and voice) Bharata, do you not yet understand!?

Bharata:	U n d e r s t a n d ?...what?

Satrughna:	The...king...that...died...!

Bharata:	What, he that his lordship spoke of? Why, what of him?

Satrughna:	Why...Bharata...'tis...'tis...!!!

Bharata:	(the horror and suffering on Satrughna's face sets Bharata thinking and sudden as a thunderclap, the truth bursts on his mind; in tones of frenzied despair and anger) What he?...(With limbs taut, and clenched fists defiantly challenging the room) Not he? 'Tis a lie! A fiendish...God... (in helpless resignation)...'Tis the truth! (collapses on the back of the couch where the dead man lies;...in the agonised voice of a stricken fawn and with face buried in his hands) My...king!...My father!... Never to look on thy loved face again! Never to look into thy loving eyes again! Never to hear thy kindly voice a g a i n!

Satrughna:	(approaching, touches him in the nape of his neck; in a voice blended of sympathy and protest) Bharata, remember who you are!

Bharata:	(reiterating dazedly) "Remember...who...I...am? Who...I..." (with an effort...aloud to Vanga) Is his holiness the Sage Vasishtha in the Palace ?

Vanga:	Aye, Sire!

Bharata:	(plaintively) Then, bespeak for me, my lord, that Bharata, numb'd in limb and mind, hungers for sight and touch of His Holiness' feet, here! And (raising his voice with effort, to the courtiers) We would be alone I (all the retinue leave noiselessly by the right egress from the corridor, while Vanga leaves by the left.) [Bharata with superhuman effort is controlling his emotions, glaring widly at the left ingress to the corridor. The moment the sage Vasishtha enters, one bound of hysterical frenzy lands him near the Rishi.]

Bharata:	(in almost threatening notes) Could you not...you, the greatest of the great ones of the earth...could you not have sav'd him…and…saving him...sav'd us all too!!? (collapses at the Rishi's feet; Satrughna brushing away his fast-falling tears, places a chair immediately behind the sage)

Vasishtha:	(seats himself, the princes still prone at his feet; in a dispassionate voice charg'd with a soupcon of admonition) It is not in my heart to chide thee, child! But this helplessness of thine, belies thy sex, thy learning, thy blood, thy lineage and prepares thee but ill for thy man's task of bearing the burden that fate path placed on thee, the greatest of the Raaghavas! (laying his hand gently on Bharata's head) Calamities like these, aye, greater than these are sent us but to try our strength, of body and mind, of heart and soul !

Bharata:	(like a cobra stricken to death, limply raises its hood for the last time, raises his head, his welling eyes meeting the Rishi's; in a voice fraught with heart-rending agony) Try us? Try us great one? Try our strength of heart and mind and soul? But, why, great one, why, the trial of this one humble soul spell a great people's grief? He meant as much to millions and more as to me! Why? Why? Why? (collapses at the Rishi's feet)*

Curtain Drops Slowly

* This playlet grew into a second scene a la most of the other creations of Kailasam

Kaikeyee

2008-09-09T22:27:00.000-07:00

O Hapless Queen! Illfated child of Fame!
Thy husband's love, his dotage-born obsession!
How well thy life illumes the dreadful lesson
That fleshbound love is one consuming flame!
O dauntless soul in woman's fragile frame,
In days of yore thy love for lord did burn
Thine inborn fears, thy sex to ashes turn
The while thy daring snatch'd the Gods from shame
Of dire defeat; anew, thy love for son,
Thy love to see him all Ayodhya's king,
Did burn the Queen the Wife in thee! How brief
Is joy in fleshbound love! How fraught with grief
This luring flamce, this soul-consuming thing!
How grave its toll, how dire the havoc done!
A righteous monarch's death of broken heart:
A woman's anguish lorn of lord and child:
A kingdom's mourn and yearn for their heir exil'd:
All these thou wrought! And yet were these no part
Of plan of thy devise: The ruthless art
That rain'd red ruin o'er the Raghu land
Was work of Fate whose woeful vengeful hand
Sent e'en thy dream to crown thy son athwart!
Thy wiles brought gall to all and joy to none.
Misguided queen, Ambition's thoughtless fool,
The Hunch thy mentor, Hell's vile myrmidon
that fann'd a mother's 'spiring spark to flame,
That fiend in guise and guile, thy friend in name
Was imp of Fate, nonelse and thou her tool!!

Relentless Fate, when she did turn her face
In wrath upon the Raghu clan and land,
Her blackest look she cast, her gravest hand
She laid on him thy son, whose prowess, grace
And wisdom mark'd him noblest of his race:
Ador'd of parent, brother, kin and spouse,
Admir'd of friend, afear'd of foe, his House
Ne'er gender'd greater son! Yet fast apace
Did fate's dire darts descend his sinless head.
Fate's femine freaks, alack, were ever so:
The guilty left unscath'd, the guileless bled
Of heart or burnt of soul! At one fell blow
Was he bereft of sire and kin, and thou
His best-lov'd mother loosen'd this flood of woe!

Calamity's touchstone to assay
Tru worth of humankind. Whilst craven hearts
Do rage and rave, the brave their nobler parts
Convoke and calmly brunt their woe. The sway
Of grief or vengeful ire unveils the way
Of churls: thy son, has he been base of breed
Or faint of heart or mean of soul, thy deed
Had surely charg'd his relling brain to slay,
Nay, tear thee limb from limb, to vent his ire
And venge a widow'd mother's broken heart,
A people's mourn and death of godly sire!
But e'en a madden'd woman's monster crime
Could scarcely ruffle his soul serene, sublime:
Sore pity 'twas replac'd Revenge's part!
In Pity's light it is that God doth view
All human sins. And Pity's light doth shed
No purple rays of Pride: nor Ire's blood-red
Nor Envy's green nor Fear's jaundice hue
Mars Pity's flame whose lambent limpid blue
Reveals the God in Man! The burden grave
Prince Bharatha in Pity bore to save
His mother's burning soul in kindly dew
Of Chaste Kausalya's forgiveness, did start
A wail of woe for all eternity!
And cleft in twain to con thy life, my heart,
Like marg'ret-shell athirst for Swaathee's rain
Did gasp agape and froze my tears of pain
Into this song of soul-deep sympathy!

The Recipe

2008-09-09T21:19:00.000-07:00

INTO a bare handful of bones and skin
Pour just an ounce or so of flesh and blood;
Put in a heart love-full as SEA in flood;
Likewise a mind sea-deep and free from sin;
Fix on two jumboo ears, ...two goo goo eyes;
Paint on a smile of babe at mother's breast;
Inclose a soul that caps Himavat's crest
And speaks with tongue which honey's sweet defies!

"The Stuffing?": Goat's milk, soya beans and dates;
Now, cover to the brim with suff'ring human's tears
And bake this dish in gaol for one score years;
Take out and "garnish" it with pariah mates;
Wrap up in rag, prop up with lithe bamboo
And serve: The World Redeemer: Our Baapoo!

Subhadra

2008-09-09T21:07:00.000-07:00

A Threnody

I'LL never never see my boy again!
I'll never kiss his bonny face again!
A thunderbolt, he spann'd the battle-plain
And cleft the whirling phalanx right in twain!
But my own boy? - I'll never see again!

I'll never never see my boy again!
I'll ne'er caress his winsome eyes again!
I heard my son's triumphant battle shout,
I saw his teeming foemen put to rout!
But my own boy? - I'll never see again!

I'll never never see my boy again!
I'll never hear his gurgling laugh again!
I heard his vanquish'd foemen's dying cries,
I saw a blinding blaze ascend the skies
But my own boy? - I'll never see again!

I'll never never see my boy again!
I'll never crush him to my breasts again!
That dazzling shaft on high of purple hue
His death-defying soul it was, I knew!
And knew - I'd never see my boy again!

~

My blinding tears, my sobs of soul in pain,
My wails of broken heart, - are all in vain!
Nor all my piteous prayers will regain
Me him who dirge I moan in one refrain:
I'll never never see my boy again!

Drona

2008-09-09T20:57:00.000-07:00

THY flaunted virgin phalanx cleft a two
By but a stripling, thine own pupil's son
Whose bow abash'd his sire's preceptor! You,
In pain of tortur'd vanity, let run
Thine ire to blind thee to the blackest deed
Besmirch'd the scroll of Aryan Chivalry!
The while thy master's ghoulish hate did feed
And fatten on thy victor's butchery,
Thy father's heart had it bore some pity
For Partha in his dire calamity,
Dread Nemesis had spar'd thine aged brain
The searing, killing agony accrued
Of death of thine own son. Thou didst but drain
The bitter gall thy vanity had brewed!

Krishna

2008-09-09T12:57:00.000-07:00

A woman's witching face, her ways, her eyes;
A panther's frame, its grace, mayhap its heart;
An eerie mastery of ev'ry art;
A honey-tongue that steep'd all truth in lies
And yet could strip all lies in light of Truth
A smile that mock'd at plight of friend in Woe;
A breast that bled at sight of fallen foe;
Ador'd and yet afear'd of all, in sooth:

Thou tangl'd mass of man and god and brute,
What mortal mind may con thy rainbow-life
That blazed undimm'd mid storms of human strife,
And glean the wisdom of thy madd'ning flute,
Thy love-lit crimes, thy kindly cruelties,
Thou paradox for all eternities!

Truth Naked

2008-09-09T12:49:00.000-07:00

WE call thee 'brother', Scavenger;
We lie, believe us not:
Would we dare set our kindred on
The task that is thy lot?

We call thee 'friend', O Scavenger;
We lie, believe us not:
Thy Home reeks ranker than Latrines,
And we reck not a jot.

We call thee 'hero', Scavenger;
We lie, believe us not:
A soul that conquers flesh is not
A carrion-feeding sot.

Until we callous callid brutes
For dread of Wrath Divine,
Desist from crime of coz'ning thee
To play the human swine;

Until thy sodd'n eyes do awake
To thine own manliness,
Our cant of "brother", "hero", "friend",
Is balderdash, no less!

Commiseration

2008-09-09T12:39:00.000-07:00

FLUNG adrift by very mother at birth;
Accurs'd of anger'd tutor in thy youth;
Forlorn of friend and kith and kin; in sooth,
A nameless, aimless waif on earth.
Relentless Fate swoop'd thee to serve Her aim.
And veer'd thy steps into a nest of plots
And feuds: A Royal house of power-drunk sots,
Perdue to Pity, Chivalry, e'en shame!

Beguil'd with bribe of crown to battle in cause
Of king, who match'd thee 'gainst thy very kin,
Thy valour, bounty, innocence of sin
Avail'd thee naught 'gainst unjust death. Alas!
Befooled babe 'gainst Fate's bewild'ring odds!
Bejewell'd bauble of the jeering Gods!

Eternal Cain

2008-09-09T12:34:00.000-07:00

IF luscious fruit begat of tree
Beget but its own dam the tree,
May weal of Man begat of woe
Beget aught else for him but woe?

~

Since blood-red dawn of fateful day
This Brute-Divine saw light of day,
Whilst God in man, sees Right from Wrong,
'Tis Brute in him, to right a wrong,
That spills the blood of brother man
And stills the Voice of God in man!

Mother-Love

2008-09-09T12:25:00.000-07:00

ALL love is blind! Is mad! And what of love
Sees cygnet Kinglings in unlovely ducklings? -
Rainbow-plumed dulcet warblers in
Her uncouth croaking raven's sooty chicks? -
Why, blindest, maddest love of all, I ween,
Is certes, weird and wondrous Mother-Love!

The Artist

2008-09-09T12:18:00.000-07:00

The Anchorite cries in cardiac sighs,
Complaining "This Life's but a SHOW?"
The artist decries such dolorous cries,
And gifts us his "AFTER GLOW".

The Dramatist

2008-09-09T12:05:00.000-07:00

A Brahma designs! A Vishnu sustains!
A Cinder-grim'd SIVA doth slay!
The dramatist deigns when Durga ordains,
the Trinity's Play to display!

~

The yellow stragglers of all setting moons
Do linger but to vex a risen Sun-

Fulfilment

2008-09-09T04:21:00.000-07:00

A Playlet of THE MAHAABHAARATA

Personae:

EKALAVYA	Chief of the Nishaadas
KRISHNA	Chief of the Vrishnis

Period:
Eve of Kurukshetra

Place:
A Forest-Glade

Place

A Glade in Ekalavya's Forest

[Time : Noontide]

FOUND: Krishna seated on a fallen tree-trunk.

[All around him a number of fawns are gathered, some nestling up close and some—the tiniest of them—even resting their heads on his shoulders and knees, and all nodding in synchrony with the rhythmic lylt of swell and fall of liquid notes—now sharply spurting, now softly dribbling—out of his flute of bamboo reed.]

Ekalavya:	(entering precipitately and astounded at the uncanny tableau) Hai! What are you doing to my fawns?

Krishna:	(unperturbed) Your fawns?

Ekalavya:	Aye. My fawns!

Krishna:	(glancing significantly over the fawns resting on him in a dry tone) Looks like it, does it not?

Ekalavya:	(bursting into a guffaw) Ha! Ha! Ha! 'Deed, it does not! But it did amaze me seeing them nestling up to a stranger, a thing they have never done afore! I wonder why? I know! 'Tis your music! (coming close to Krishna) And your face too! (approaching closer) handsome... beautif... why! I like you myself! I wonder why?...'tis your eyes... weird... wondrous... eyes! (with the eerie limbless grace of a king cobra Krishna raises and drawing himself up to his full height meets Ekalavya squarely in the eyes. Ekalavya fascinated into drawing closer, gazes for moments together into Krishna's eyes and almost breathes his words) Do you know, there is a something about you that makes me feel that I have seen you before, somewhere! Known you before, somewhen! Wh'... Wh'... Who are you?

Krishna:	(almost roughly pushing aside the fawns in his way, walks full three paces away from Ekalavya; with stiffened neck and averted face; in harsh, haughty and almost grating accents) You are the barbarian bowman, the thumbless nishaada, Ekalavya, are you not?

Ekalavya:	(with frame suddenly stiffened, limbs taut and eyes hardened and in a voice subdued with obvious effort) Stranger though you are, you seem to know me! (sardonically) Yes! I am the barbarian Ekalavya! The thumbless bowman! And yet (with furious voice and look) thumbless as I am, I am the greatest bowman on earth, not even well-born aryans excepted! As for my being a nishaada, I am the lord of all the nishaadas in the land as was my father before me who died battling for his king, as I shall too for mine!

Krishna:	The king your father fought and fell for, was a righteous man; the creature you are bent on depraving your bow for, is an adharmi!

Ekalavya:	(with chin raised on high) It is not for me to dispute the dharma of my king; my dharma is to draw bow at my king's behest and slay his foemen.

Krishna:	(facing Ekalavya; in a sneering tone) And the while you go forth to do it, 'tis nothing to you that you leave behind you the mother that bore you, brought you forth, brought you up, and made you what you are! The ingrate who, in his search for vain glory, leaves his old mother behind, a prey to the fury of forest wolves is a coward unworthy of the name of man, let alone, bowman!

Ekalavya:	(with a supercilious smile) Whoever you are, you look as though you know everything; and talk like it too! But you do not know everything; you do not know my mother! (with fists clenched till the knuckles stand out and eyes blazing, thunders out) Listen! Long long ago, with me yet a wee mite hugging at her knees, she sent my father out to battle, with a smile on her lips, though her heart was breaking; "Go, my love" she said, "Go and battle for your king! It is for you men to go when the call comes, and for us women to let you go, nay, send you forth, and await bravely, praying for your return: and, if you do not, to lump our grief and bring up your little ones to tread the path their sires did tread!"... Having brought me up all my life to follow my father's lead in life and in death, would she now let me laze at home when my king has need of me? You called me coward! Why, if I lagged behind, She would call me coward! She would deem me no man! And that would be worse! (laughing hysterically) And you thought my mother a helpless hag affrighted of a few wolves! You do not know my mother!!

Krishna:	(with his fingers twitching impatiently) Will nothing stop you from your mad resolve to bring your hand into a fray of no concern to you?

Ekalavya:	Nothing will stop me! 'Tis no mad resolve to fight for my king as befits the son of my sire. And you call the coming fray as of no concern to me!? Why, with Partha's bow trained against my beloved Gurujee, my place is in the very van of the fray! And you lightly talk of stopping me from fighting for my Gurujee!? Partha, the snake that has set out to sting the very one that taught it to sting, does not know that Gurujee's other pupil is alive. But he soon will! With my shafts will I put out the eyes that irreverently aim arrows at Gurujee! I will slither the arms that raise a bow against Gurujee! (in a final burst of frenzied fury) Stop me!? Nothing will stop me!

Krishna:	(suddenly changing his voice to a soft, musical one, and his face beaming with a naive smile) What tree is that? (approaching Ekalavya, gracefully waves his arm pointing some far behind)

Ekalavya:	(set back for the moment by the change in Krishna's mien, manner, face and voice recovers himself but partly) Wh'... Wh'... What tree?

Krishna:	(still pointing) The one yonder... laden heavy with red luscious fruit.

Ekalavya:	Oh, that! That is the Bakula Tree. Mother and I always call it "The Birds' Tree"...but ... why.. do you want to know...?

Krishna:	That is the renowned Bakula is it? You see, though I am as fond of trees, flowers, birds and fawns as you are, living most of my life in crowded cities 'tis but rarely I can see the things I love most.

Ekalavya:	If you are really as fond of fawns and birds as I am, you cannot be the hard man I first took you to be; my shy fawns nestling close to you proved that with all your harsh words to me, you have a soft heart. Mother always held that no one who loves innocent creatures is really hard-hearted. But believe me, though I love fawns, calves, kine and birds, my heart is not always soft; it turns hard, very hard when I see wolves that hurt the fawns I love, and I kill the wolves without remorse. You do not love wolves, do you? ...but perhaps you have never seen them, living as you do in cities?

Krishna:	The wolves, I've mostly seen, are human wolves.

Ekalavya:	"Human-Wolves?" Can such things be?

Krishna:	There are! And human-fawns too that fall an easy prey to human-wolves as your forest-fawns to your forest-wolves; and I kill my wolves with as little remorse as you do yours.

Ekalavya:	Do you know, it is my life's purpose to kill all the wolves in all the forests in all the land and free all innocent creatures from fear of hurt and death?

Krishna:	I know it; and believe me, it is my life's purpose to kill all the human-wolves in all the land and free all human-fawns from fear of hurt and death.

Ekalavya:	Then you are not very much unlike me in your purpose in life? But if you hope to fulfil your purpose you must be very very powerful... a king or something?

Krishna:	I am very much like you in my purpose, and I am very very powerful... a king or something.

Ekalavya:	Tell me what your concern is with the coming fray? Is Paartha...?

Krishna:	(interrupting Ekalavya with a burst of laughter, and laying his left arm over Ekalavya and drawing him affectionately to himself) Ha! Ha! Ha! Let us for the moment leave Paarthas and frays and cities and kings alone, and talk of the things that we both love I (with an irresistible smile) You have not told me why you and your mother call the Bakula, the birds' tree!

Ekalavya:	(mounted on his pet hobby—the discoursing to his content on the loved denizens of his forest—starts off in gleesome gushing style in manner of an ingenuous boy talking of his toys and pets) We call it the Birds' Tree because, though the fruit it bears are sweet to the tongue, we do not eat any but leave them all for the birds. When other climes on earth are cold and other skies are gray, birds—hundreds of them—flock to our forest and build their nests on the Bakula; they lay eggs and hatch them; mother and I spend hours on end watching the mother-birds teaching their little ones to fly! With the coming of winter, when our clime is cold and our sky turns gray, and the Bakula shorn of fruit, the birds, wee and old, all fly away to warmer climes and brighter skies; and mother and I fare them well shouting to the little ones "Little birds, when the lands you fly to, turn cold in clime and gray of sky, do not forget to come back to us! Our clime will then be warm, and our sky a bright blue, and your tree heavy with fruit. You'll then be big enough to build your own nests, lay your own eggs, hatch them and teach your little ones to fly!"

[As Ekalavya engrossed in his story is speaking with eye and mind fixed on the Bakula Tree, Krishna cautiously draws out a dagger from its sheath swinging at his jewelled girdle; with Ekalavya's body held firm in his left arm with one lightning sweep of his right he buries the blade in Ekalavya s left breast as the latter is reaching the end of his story; Krishna tenderly catches the collapsing nishaada in his arms and lowering himself carefully to the ground, squats, with the dying Ekalavya laid across his knees.]


Ekalavya:	(fruitlessly trying to reach at the dagger still transfixed to his breast) You Coward! 'Tis you that is no man! Coward! To stab an unarmed man from behind his back! Why did you do it?

Krishna:	(in a firm, dispassionate tone) You said nothing would stop you from joining in the coming fray; this has stopped you!!

Ekalavya:	(groaning in agony) Oh! 'Tis hard to die like this!

Krishna:	It seems to me you are afraid to die!

Ekalavya:	"Afraid!" Why, you fool, fear is not in my blood!

Krishna:	Then why do you grieve, so?

Ekalavya:	I am grieving because my mother will have nothing to love, nothing to live for in all this world when I am gone!

Krishna:	If your mother will have nothing to love and nothing to live for when you are gone and will still have nothing to love and live for in this world when she herself goes, it will be really good for her as she will have nothing to be born again for in this world.

Ekalavya:	(intrigued) Then if one loves something in this world and wants to live to love this thing, but in the meanwhile dies, is one born once again in this world?

Krishna:	Yes. If one loves something in this world where everything dies, and wants to live to love this thing, but in the meanwhile dies, it is but fair, it is but just, that one should be born again in this World to have this thing that one loved to live for. And God—who is always just, who is always fair—grants every man his wish! He grants every wish of every one.

Ekalavya:	That is of course, only if one wishes for something that is good?

Krishna:	"Good"?... What is it that you call "good?"

Ekalavya:	Do you not know? Why, good is something that brings happiness, pleasure, to one's self and to ones round one; God grants it, does He not?

Krishna:	Yes. If one wishes for the thing you call "good" and wishes WELL enough, God grants it.

Ekalavya:	But you said He grants every wish of every one! What if one wishes for something bad?

Krishna:	"Bad?" What is it that you call "bad?"

Ekalavya:	"Bad?" Why, something that is not "good!" Something that brings, not happiness, but misery; not pleasure but pain. What if one wishes for something bad – not for one's own self of course, as one would never wish for that, but for ones round one, God would not grant it, would He?

Krishna:	If one wishes for the something that you call "bad" and wishes BADLY enough, God grants it.

Ekalavya:	Then He treats good and bad alike!?

Krishna:	Yes, He treats good and bad alike.

Ekalavya:	But why?

Krishna:	Because, in a way, He is too helpless to treat good and bad apart.

Ekalavya:	God "helpless"!? How?

Krishna:	God cannot tell unlike things apart.

Ekalavya:	Why not?

Krishna:	Because He has nothing to live for in this world where everything dies; He has nothing to be born for in this world where everything dies. He does not live in this world as of this world, and cannot tell the unlike things of this world, apart. But though not in this world as of this world, He watches this His world, with His loving eyes from afar far off. And to the far far off distant watcher of this world, all things of this world look alike: man and beast! wolf and fawn; friend and foe; forest, tree, shrub, leaf and blade of grass, hill, dale, mountain, sand-dune and sand grain; ocean, sea, river, brook, cloud and dew drop, all look alike to him. And loving this whole world as His world He grants every wish of every one. After all, happiness is only misery; pleasure only pain.

Ekalavya:	Happiness only misery! Pleasure only pain! How?

Krishna:	If happiness is the having of the thing one loves, misery is the losing of it; if pleasure is the owning of the thing one loves, pain is the losing of it. Your mother had the happiness of having a husband like your father and that is why she suffered the misery of losing a husband like your father; your mother has had the pleasure of owning a son like you, and that is why she will suffer the pain of losing a son like you. Other sons were born to other mothers, and other sons of other mothers died, but their birth gave her no more pleasure than their death gave her pain. It is the owning of you in your life that gave her pleasure and it is the losing of the thing she owned that will give her pain. Happiness and pleasure enjoyed sometime in this world really spell misery and pain to be endured some other time in this world.

Ekalavya:	But, cannot one be happy for ever?

Krishna:	Yes. If happiness is the having of the thing one loves, and misery is the losing of it, the having of the thing one loves without ever losing it, would be happiness for ever.

Ekalavya:	And what is that thing the having of which would bring happiness for ever?

Krishna:	No thing of this world where everything dies; as your happiness of having it must change to the misery of losing it when it dies leaving you behind or you die leaving it behind.

Ekalavya:	What then is the thing not of this world that would bring happiness for ever?

Krishna:	Did you want to live for something in this world?

Ekalavya:	Yes; I wanted to live long enough to kill all the wolves in the world and to see all fawns freed from fear of hurt and death.

Krishna:	With your mind brimful of things of this world wherein is there room to think of anything not of this world?

Ekalavya:	But when will I be able to think of anything not of this world?

Krishna:	Only when all things of this world look so alike to you that you cannot tell unlike things of this world apart: When, man and beast; friend and foe; wolf and fawn; forest, tree, shrub, leaf and blade of grass; hill, dale, mountain, desert, sand-dune and sand grain; ocean, sea, river, lake, brook, cloud and dewdrop, all look alike to you, the having of any of which giving you no happiness and the losing of any giving you no misery: Only when this world looks to your eyes as to a far far off distant watcher of this world.

Ekalavya:	"Looks as to a far off distant watcher of this world"? I do not... quite... understand!

[Ekalavya in look and voice is sinking]

Krishna:	You will not, not now; do not try to.

Ekalavya:	(with a far away look in his eyes) My father died battling bravely for his king, and I am dying helpless... stabbed from behind!

Krishna:	Your father died in battle, and before he died slew a good few foemen and made many wives lose the happiness of having their husbands, and many mothers lose the pleasures of having their sons; but you spent all your life in the forest freeing innocent fawns from fear of hurt and death; and you regret it!? Would you like to slay a few foemen before you died?

Ekalavya:	...and make a few mothers lose...no! If I must die... 'tis best I die... like this! But my poor mother had set her heart on my following my father's lead! ... Do you know, coward as I know you are, I cannot dislike you, hard as I am trying to! Who are you?

Krishna:	I am your big brother.

Ekalavya:	If I were strong and not dying, I should laugh! Call yourself my big brother after slaying me! How can you be my big brother and still kill me?

Krishna:	Why may I not? The fawns that were all born in this forest as you were too, you have been their big brother, have you not?

Ekalavya:	(his eyes brightening; with a sad sigh) The "big brother of my fawns"! I hope I have been their big brother!

Krishna:	Now, the wolves that were born in this forest, if they had not hurt your fawns, you would have been their big brother too, would you not?

Ekalavya:	Yes, if they had not hurt my fawns!

Krishna:	But if after some time of not hurting, they had started to hurt the fawns, you would have killed them, brothers or no brothers?

Ekalavya:	Yes. I would have!

Krishna:	There! You see, one very big brother may kill his little brothers to free his still smaller brothers from hurt and death.

Ekalavya:	But I have not hurt or killed any of your little brothers...

Krishna:	You are a human-wolf that will kill my human fawns if not stopped!

Ekalavya:	But my king...

Krishna:	You, your king and his friends are wolves that hurt my human-fawns, and you shall all go.

Ekalavya:	(with a weak smile) And Paartha, with his bow and shafts... is a feeble fawn perhaps!

Krishna:	Your king, his friends, are wolves that hurt my fawns; Paartha and his friends are wolves that might hurt my fawns, and they shall go too.

Ekalavya:	But why kill me unfairly with a dagger whilst I was unarmed?

Krishna:	My killing of you was no more unfair than your killing of your wolves with steel shafts whilst you stood yards beyond the reach of their fangs. It is the purpose for the killing and not the manner of the killing that decides the fairness of the killing.

Ekalavya:	It is hard to talk with you! You are far too clever for me! And yet you sound truthful...

Krishna:	I am truthful!

Ekalavya:	If you are, can I trust you to truthfully do something for me?

Krishna:	You may trust me.

Ekalavya:	I do not know how you will do it, but I feel you are clever enough to do it... Will you somehow... anyhow... spare my poor mother from even a moment's misery and pain of losing a son... like me?

Krishna:	(earnestly) I truthfully promise you that I will somehow... anyhow save your poor mother from even a moment's misery and pain of losing a son like you!

[With a faint smile on his lips Ekalavya drops his head back, dead. Krishna gazes into the dead eyes and tears trickle out of his own; raising the body, presses his lips on the bleeding breast and forthwith lets the body drop with a thud, muttering, "Clay! Clay!! Clay!!!"]

Krishna:

(With the most intense disgust a human face and voice can muster) If I am not very careful I shall have some thing to love in this world where everything dies! I shall have something to live for in this world where everything dies. I shall have something to be born for in this world where everything rots! Clay! Clay!! (to the body) Yes, little brother, you shall be born again to kill all the wolves that hurt your fawns!

[Rises up. Drawing himself up to his full height, with eyes blazing and face grim as death itself, hisses his words between clenched teeth.]

Krishna:	And now to kill the wolves that hurt MY fawns!

A Voice:	(from behind the trees) Where are you, Ekalavya? If you wander about hungry in the hot mid-day sun, you will soon be too ill to battle for your king; where are you ?

Krishna:	His poor old mother! Mother? (his face suddenly takes on a grotosquely humorous expression; he bursts into an unearthly guffaw of laughter sounding less of a human than of a hyena) HA! HA!! HAA!!! MOTHER! BROTHER!! SISTER!!! ... HA! HA!! HA!! BALABHADRA! SUBHADRA!!! SUYODHANA!! PAARTHA!! HA! HAA!! (bending down lays hold of the body by a leg and drags it into the cover of a bush nearby ... Whilst about to exit) But my promise to you to... somehow... anyhow... save your mother from even a moment of the pain of losing a son like you! Yes, little brother, I will keep my promise!

[Slipping his hand into the bush draws out the dagger from the body.

With the blood-stained dagger clenched in his right hand he crouches and silently creeps towards THE TREES FROM WHENCE THE VOICE CAME with all the caution and grace of a panther stalking its prey, and is lost to view.]

The stage is empty and silent for fully a minute.

Suddenly, a piercing scream of anguish is heard from behind the trees.

Curtain drops forthwith

A NOTE on Fulfilment
'Fulfilment', a sequel to 'Purpose', was created on the spur of the moment when Kailasam declaimed his then half-written-typed play 'Purpose' to Dr. (Sir) C. R. Reddy (Founder of the Andhra University and later Pro-chancellor of the Mysore University) who naively asked Kailasam after the Recital, "Well! What becomes of Ekalavya then?" Kailasam's answer was, 'Fulfilment!', the play full-fledged, of three Acts; In the last act Ekalavya meets his end by Krishna's hands. Needless to say, that Reddy was struck by this recital. He said simply "Kailasam! you must write the whole series!"

According to Kailasam,
"Jaraasandhaha Chaydi-raajo mahaatma
Mahaabaahuhu Ekalavyo nishaadaha
Ekyckasaha twaddhitaartham hataaha MAYAIVA"
— The Mahaabhaarata
which he could recall at that moment lent support to his creation and there the episode ended.]

The Sixth Columnist 1943

2008-09-09T02:07:00.000-07:00

WITH Boche and Bolshie "Up the Pole"
"Appeasement" off its perch,
The Bull-Frog in his Latin hole
Left crockless in the lurch,

With Nazis slaying East end West
To spread their kult of Peace=
Their Vaterland a prey to pest
Of Hitler's brain disease.

With Jappie chewing "China" bits
Far more than he can lump
And throwing chronic colic fits
The greedy, giddly chump!

With Indians touring Lands O' West
In search of civ'lis'd ease;
To find too late that "Home is best"
with no body to please;

With Muslim breaking Hindu pate
And vice versa too,
With potentate of native State
A tiger or cuckoo,

With Gandhi caged safe in quod,
Away from pals and mates,
To Meditate upon hi God-
On soya beans and dates

The talk in train or tram or bus
Is all of war and gore!
To ME, why, all this war-time fuss
Is but a beastly bore!

For what care I for Europe's war
Or India's dream "Swaraj"?
A host of Hitlers may not mar
My own, my PERSONAL Raj!

Let Britain boast of battleships,
The Boche of blitzkriegs brag,
Let Europe's dire dictatorships
Prove John Bull's reddest rag;

Let India e'er in fatal clutch
Of famine, pest and best
Suffer a-fresh as n'er so much
Through squabbling priest and priest.

Let patriots pop in and out
Of cabinet and jail,
Let Shibboleth and slogans shout
Drown the ryot's wall;

Let 'Parties', 'wings', 'sabhas' and 'blacks'
Revel in plots and cliques!
Let congressites pull up their socks
At risk of bursting breeks;

Let "Leaguers" spout of "Palkistans"
With tongues in brazen cheeks,
Let "Crackistans" and "Talkistans"
Absorb political freaks;

To ME, to who Earth itself is
But land surrounding ME
MY food, MY bed, domestic bliss,
MY job with guarentee

Of pension when I'm old and gray,
Are all that ME worry!
Thus whiche'er way this world may sway,
On velvet is THIS ME!