Brahma Rak Sasa

Sahitya Akademi
BRAHMARAKSASA
Author(s): Muktibodh, George John and J.P. Sharma
Source: Indian Literature, Vol. 17, No. 3 (JULY-SEPTEMBER 1974), pp. 119-126
Published by: Sahitya Akademi
Stable URL: https://www.jstor.org/stable/23330941
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Poems
Muktibodh
BRAHMARAKSASA
By the ruin-edged side

of the town
the deserted lonely well.
Several steps descend
into its stagnant
depths of water
in the cold darkness.
Something profound there

built on inexplicable foundation.
Silent the fig trees,

their branches entangled
round the well.
Deserted, brown and round
hang the owl-nests
from those branches.
The green raw smell

floating in the air
gathers and fuses into itself
the aroma of some past unknown goodness,
of numerous past good deeds,
to insinuate, to become a deep suspicion
119
INDIAN LITERATURE
like a constant anxiety

knocking at the heart.
The white star-flowered tugger

squats, and rests its green elbow
on the wall of the well.
And just by it
a fragrant bunch
of crimson flowers.
O my kanher
calling me towards the danger
where the dark well-mouth
opens
to stare at the empty sky.
In the well's unfathomable

dense void lives
a Brahmaraksasa
who mutters words
like a madman,
words that erupt
like reverberating echoes,
words meant it seems
to wash away
some deeply suspected
impurity of the body.
Day and night

the Brahmaraksasa
rubs his body
to wipe clean
the stain of sin.
Paws
cleaning feverishly
hands, chest, face
120
POEMS
in an endless
beating rhythm.
Yet the filth remains
the filth remains
and... .from the lips burst

a unique paean,
a yelling out of a hymn
full of fury,
a tide of
flawless Sanskrit abuses.
The lines on the forehead

weave
the glistening threads of thought.

Complete the immersion
in the mad flow.
In the consciousness
dark the feeling.
But when the mote-dancing sun-rays

slant to fall
on the inner wall
and reach him,
he thinks
the sun has bowed low
in salutation.
When the moon-beams,

their way lost,
collide somewhere
against the wall
the Brahmaraksasa thinks
the moonlight worships
him as
the dispenser of knowledge.
121
INDIAN LITERATURE
Exultant
despite the pierced body and mind

he continually feels
the sky has respectfully
accepted his supremacy.
And then
with tremendous vigour
his well-versed mind
interprets
Sumer-Babylonian folktales,
the sweet Vedic hymns
and so to the latest formula,
chhand, mantra, theorem,
even all the theories

of Marx, Engels, Russell, Toynbee
Heidegger, Spengler, Sartre & Gandhi
explaining afresh
the achievements of them all.
Thus the Brahmaraksasa

bathes in glory in the dense depths
of the old dark well.
The thundering, echoing agitated sounds

emerging from the depths
in ever new circles of whirling words—
word destroying its own nuance,
metaphor battling its image—
are turned into
the warped product
where the sound fights its own echo.
The white flöwer-star of the lugger

resting its beautiful green elbow
on the wall of the well
listens to those sounds.
122
POEMS
The sounds are heard by

the delicate soft gooseberry flowers,
the sounds are heard by
the old fig tree.
I too, hear the same tragedy
screamed through mad symbols
trapped in the well.
The dark steps

of a steep black staircase
of a strange inner world.
An ascent and a descent

again a rise and a rolling down,
sprained feet
and wound-marked chest.
More savage than the conflict

between good and evil
the battle of the good against the better.
Profound the small success
sublime the failure.
The agonies of obsessive perfectionism

are indeed sweet.
The moral ideals

created through precise geometric calculations
self-conscious, subtle moral ideals,
when was it easy to satisfy
the lust for perfection?
The inner hidden tales of mankind

are indeed lovely.
The sun rises
and the scarlet bloody stream of worries
pour down the wall.
123
INDIAN LITERATURE
The moon rises

and the pure white bandage
winds round the wound
on the feverish forehead.
The stars at the end of the sky

a diaspora of numberless decimal points.
He had died
he had been killed
in the complicated
battle-field of calculations
spread all around
in the everywhere
of decimal points.
And he is lying spreadeagled,

chest and arms out
like a discoverer.
His personality like a soft marble palace,

a starcase in the palace—
too difficult the ascent
of its forlorn steps.
Let us leave him the steps
of equational calculations
geared to deed and poise
perfect in emotion and logic.
In search perfect poise

of emotion, reason, action
he scouted
all scholars, all thinkers
to find a Guru.
But the times had changed

and there came a fame-trader.
124
POEMS
Gold out of profitable work,

heart and mind out of gold
and from gold possessed conscience
reflection of truth
continually glittering.
But within this self-conscious personality

a living contradiction,
world-conscious, frank.
A grief-stricken mind
in pursuit of greatness.
If I had met him those days

I could have showed him
his worth,
his own greatness
by living his agonies in myself.
I could have told him
the value of his greatness
for people like us.
I could tell
the importance of that innerness.
He was ground
betwixt the intractable
inner and outer millstones.
Such the wretched tragedy.
In the well
continually speaking
through mad symbols
of how in his cell
busy in calculations
he had died away.
He disappeared
like a dead bird
125
INDIAN LITERATURE
in the dark void

of the thorny dense wood,
an unknown light
that had slept forever.
Why did this happen?
Why
I desire to be
the sensitive disciple
of the Brahmaraksasa
so that
I may bring
his incomplete work,
the source of his agony,
to perfect, firmly based
summation.
( Translatedfrom Hindi by
George John & J-P- Sharma)
Ramdhari Singh Dinkar
SIX EXCERPTS
The secret speech is lost,

the saying of the unsayable;
ranting ad nauseam
you forget the burnished gold
that is silence.
(Neel Kusam)
$ * a)c * ♦ $ $
Reflect, remembering
that the rhythm of your unbroken meditation
instills life in generations yet unborn.
126

Brahma Rak Sasa

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Sahitya Akademi

By the ruin-edged side

Something profound there

Silent the fig trees,

The green raw smell

like a constant anxiety

The white star-flowered tugger

In the well's unfathomable

Day and night

and... .from the lips burst

The lines on the forehead

the glistening threads of thought.

But when the mote-dancing sun-rays

When the moon-beams,

despite the pierced body and mind

even all the theories

Thus the Brahmaraksasa

The thundering, echoing agitated sounds

The white flöwer-star of the lugger

The sounds are heard by

The dark steps

An ascent and a descent

More savage than the conflict

The agonies of obsessive perfectionism

The moral ideals

The inner hidden tales of mankind

The moon rises

The stars at the end of the sky

And he is lying spreadeagled,

His personality like a soft marble palace,

In search perfect poise

But the times had changed

Gold out of profitable work,

But within this self-conscious personality

If I had met him those days

in the dark void

Ramdhari Singh Dinkar

The secret speech is lost,

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