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Righteous Conduct- Proper Time
Management PUZZLE M. K. Kaw Oh! then I was gorged with questions, for in the exuberance of logic I thought of life as a neatly laid out jigsaw puzzle. All I had to do was figure it out, to see with sudden shock a life-size picture Of God. I tried the permutations, picked a piece here, a piece there placed, replaced, displaced them over and over and yet over, slowly, madly, in a frenzy, but nothing fit, no picture formed. All that I created in my agitation was a haze where dim shapes were hinted: before I could define them the vapours shifted into dissimilar contours. That made me frantic, perhaps there was a flaw in my moves, the way I lifted The pieces... If only I knew where to place them the mist would clear and I noise to nose with God. Just lately have I begun to suspect this is not it at all. Life is a squirrel chasing another up the trunk of a tree, down the trunk, across the grass, behind the rock, around the mound... And in between the chaser stops and rises on his
haunches, looks around with his mouse-mouth, and ruins again for the joy of it.. Is there an ultimate purpose here, a divine plan, an earth-shaking dogma, a war between God and Satan? It looks more like a game there all the players are on the same side. You know what I mean, don’t you! Righteous Conduct- Obedience GRANDFATHER Jayanta Mahapatra (Starving, on the point of death, Chintamani Mahapatra embraced Christianity During the terrible famine that struck Orissa in
1866) The yellowed diary’s notes whisper in vernacular. They sound the forgotten posture, the cramped cry that forces me to hear that voice. Now I stumble in your black-paged wake. No uneasy stir of cloud darkened the white skies of your day; the silence of dust grazed in the long afternoon sun, ruling the cracked fallow earth, ate into the laughter of
your flesh. For you it was the hardest question of all. Dead, empty trees stood by the dragging river, past your weakened body, flailing against your
sleep. You thought of the way the jackals moved, to move. Did you hear the young tamarind leaves rustle in the cold mean nights of your belly? Did you see your own death? Watch it tear your cries break them into fits of hard unnatural laughter? How old were you? Haunted, you turned coward and
run, the real animal in you plunging through your bone. You left your family behind, the buried things. the precious clod that praised the quality of a
god. The imperishable that swung your body. turned it inside out? What did faith matter? What Hindu world so ancient and true for you to
hold? Uneasily you dreamed toward the centre of your web. The separate life let you survive, while perhaps the one you left wept in the blur of your heart. Now in a night of sleep and taunting rain my son and I speak of that famine nameless as
stone. A conscience of years is between us. He is young The whirls of glory are breaking down for him
before me. Does he think of the past as a loss we have lived,
our own? Out of silence we look back now at what we do not
know. There is a dawn waiting beside us, whose signs are a hundred-odd years away from you, Grandfather. You are an invisible piece on a board whose move has made our children grow, to know us. carrying us deep where our voices lapse into
silence. We wish we knew you more. We wish we knew what it was to be, against dying to know the dignity. that had to be earned dangerously, your last chance that was blindly terrifying, so
unfair. We wish we had not to wake up with our smiles in the middle of some social order. Righteous Conduct- Courage ADVENTURER Karan Singh For I have gone where men have never been, and wandered over countries far and near and crossed great mountains with no trace of fear, and gazed on many a strange and wondrous scene; on mighty oceans have I plied my raft where monstrous fishes close beneath me played, and endless water heaved and lurched and swayed as tirelessly I hurled my lethal shaft; and through the great primeval forests tall I plied the lonely furrow of my life and slew great monsters, waged untiring strife with creatures of the darkness, great and small; and often as I strove with might and main, and each victory won far renown, I thought that I bad mown my troubles down and conquered fear and death, old age and pain; but ever were my hopes rudely belied, for wander as I might throughout the world I could not rid me of the terror curled somewhere within my being, deep inside; for over all our mortal hopes and gains hovers the constant shadow of the grave, of Time, that dims the glory of the brave and lays at waste our labours and our pains; and what adventure, what exploit will stay with us beyond the folded veil of death ? and what, when we have shed our mortal breath, will speed us on our far, eternal way? Righteous Conduct-Simple living The Boat of Life Fakir Mohan Senapati The boat of my life sails along the ocean of time, guided by the oar of karma. My timorous nature, like turbulent waves, tosses my life's boat up and down. Disease, sorrow, sin, anger, many a tempest, submerged rocks of tarnished acquaintances, too: By all these the boat of my life seems perturbed and harried. Sailing thus, it might get caught In the false salvation-like ties When the mind is possessed by worldly desires. The captain of sound conscience, the only savior, on insignificant one! Keep the polestar in mind. Or else, the dark, violent storm will surely sink your troubled boat. Translated from Oriya by Samanyu Satpathy Righteous Conduct-Respect for
others Devi Hussain Rabi Gandhi From Naoakhali to Nuapali beyond the threshold of the lakshman rekha of hunger, it is the dense jungle of mall sahi or sonagachhi, where perched on the hunting scaffold, the trident of civilization lurks for the kill. The pirate beyond the seas has drawn the lakhsman rekha of hunger. If you cry you are doomed, if you laugh, you are doomed. Your womanhood is being bargained, your modesty is being auctioned. Your honor is being marked. If you sell your honor, you are the Miss World, If not, you are primeval. woman on house arrest. His highness has ordained that you will be empowered; you will be granted shakti. The Dusshashan of the twenty first century is trying to disrobe you in the electronic court of the Kurus. You are already disrobed. You are being paraded on fashion ramp with your shoulders Laden with the merchandise Of the tycoons across the seas. His majesty has Made repeated declarations that the globalized consumerist God be worshipped, and you be empowered. Whether you are strong or weak, you yourself know not. For self-realization you must see yourself in the mirror as mother, sister, or wife. And then, to assume sakti, ascend the throne. Become Devi. Become the mother of the universe. Translated from Oriya by Sumanyu
Satpathy. Righteous Conduct- Service to
others Let My Body Mingle Gopabandhu Das Compatriots, friends, and kinsmen! Are you perturbed over my imprisonment? This was not unexpected. So why are you pained? Timidity is the sign of the infirm. The brave kills or is killed in action. The brave knows no retreat He dies not in mortal fear. I know this to be a war of peace, being fought, not with weapons nor canons, nor strength nor wealth nor chariots, horses, or elephants. This is a psychological battle to break the arrogance of brute strength. Abandoning material bondage I am armed with the shield of non-cooperation. Only those who are strong with the power of non-violence can find a place in this battlefield. Here the first reward is imprisonment: the next, maybe, the dismemberment of the body. I have joined the battle knowing this full well. I am not at all bothered by thoughts of shame or
infamy. May my body merge with the soil of this land, let my countrymen march on my back! Let all the pitfalls on the road to swarat be filled up by my flesh and bones. Let my sacrifice make men advance, however little, in the path of freedom. All ordained by the almighty, may my last prayer be fulfilled in this life! Translated from Oriya by Sumanyu
Satpathy Righteous Conduct-Faithfulness The Tragic Plight Kumaran Asan Awake! Awake! 0, gardeners! Make yourselves busy. The spring has dawned. Remember, in this garden, made beautiful By innumerable blossoms, high and low, There is not a single flower That does not give joy to the Great Gardener. Every blossom deeply desires to grow slowly And attain its perfection According to the will of God. Beware! Lest some cantankerous power Should cast a stumbling block in that way The Almighty doles out to them With never-fading beneficence And without discrimination Blissful air and gracious sunshine And sanctified rainfall everyday. Let them all blossom and shower fragrance! Let them all spread their dazzling radiance! Let them all grow their soft petals Long and broad and enjoy delight. Thread into garlands such flowers That will enrich themselves in mutual harmony. It will be pleasing to God; indeed, It is the policy of the Almighty Creator, Protect them from destruction, Take steps to destroy the cankers Like envy and prejudice and hatred That eat into the vitals of the human heart. Water their beds with love every day And give all the flowers unstinted sympathy. Build around them a fence with the golden thread Of customs proper to the times. The garden that you rear up thus Will fill with virtuous qualities And in its dazzling brightness outshine The heavenly grove. Almighty God Will congratulate and bless you Revered Brahmins! I dare say this Even if you deem it improper, Considering the country and the faith And the people and your own sacred selves. Times have changed and the strings Of traditional customs are old and crumbling. The awakened people will not be bound down By these frail threads. Come forward with boldness, Replace your traditional customs and conventions Or they will certainly displace you. Echoing these very words all through The tumultuous winds of change Blow through Kerela today. Time gives the same message from all quarters: And the grumblings of unrest are surging From underneath the feat. In your sick hurry and the din Of the eulogies of your fawning flutters, You may not consider these exhortations. And these words may not reach your ears. If my words in this Tragic Plight Which I utter in my emotional excitement And my righteous indignation, Are not soft enough, forgive me For the purity of my purpose I beg of you, O revered ones! To think with a little kindness what My lowly self has said. And I salute you And place before you this simple song. My humble manifesto. Translated from Malayalam by P.C.
Gangadhar. Righteous Conduct-Equality Onam Singers Vyloppilli Sreedhara Menon 1. Fondly singing Onam songs, And along the long roads trudging, We are poor folk, always half-starved And wrapped in tattered rags. What once had blazed, generations back As Onam's golden light Now dwells a dim and subdued gleam In our aged heads Gray-haired like sprinkled snow. 2. In the fragrant land of Kerala Redolent of numerous spices old, On the Ganga's widespread plains Where sanyasins conic in streams Mingle and flow, In the numerous tents that rise On the great desert, silent, solemn, bare, In the palm groves on the Nile's vast shores, In the ever-enchanting isles of Greece, In the rice-fields guarded by the poor In China with her face all awrinkle, In far-away eastern cities Where moonlit mansions crowd Like lovely lotus buds, In Russian steppes Where gypsies, doughty horsemen, Crowd round camp-fires, On the distant southern ranges, Where the wondrous Mayan culture Had its foundations laid, In many lands, in many garbs, In many a tongue, we tell The story of the radiant Onam That had dawned and set in days primeval. Drum and pipe and flute and lyre Accompany the song we sing. Honey, and milk, and juice of grape And the young coconut's delicious milk |