To-day, after a year, on the sacred fifth day, Nature has flung away her worn raiment, and with new jewels, see, with fresh buds and new shoots she has begemmed herself and smiles. The birds wing their way, singing with joy; ah, how lovely! The black bee hums as if with sound of “Ulu! ulu!” he wished good fortune to Nature. The south breeze seems to say as it flits from house to house, “To-day Bīnāpāni[16] comes here to Bengal.” Arrayed in guise that would enrapture even sages, maid Nature has come to worship thy feet, O propitious one! See, O India, at this time all pay no heed to fear of plague, famine, earthquake; all put away pain and grief and gloom; to-day all are drunk with pleasure. For a year Nature was waiting in hope for this day to come. Many folk in many a fashion now summon thee, O white-armed one; I also have a mind to worship. Thy two feet are red lotuses; but, say, with what gift shall we worship thee, O mother Bīnāpāni? Ever sorrowful, ever ill-starred are we women of Bengal, all of us. Yet if thou have mercy, this utterly dependent one will worship thee with the gift of a single tear of devotion shed on thy lotus feet. Graciously accept that, and in mercy, O white-armed one, grant this blessing on my head on this propitious, sacred day, that this life may be spent in thy worship, Mother.
Pankajinī Basu.
Tr. Miss Whitehouse.
A WOMAN’S BEAUTY
Round the black eyes are eyebrows looking like a bow,
They are not frightened at all, and they shoot their arrows with certainty.
Seeing the precious ear-rings with pearls and beautiful settings,
Even the moon with all the stars is filled with shame.
I cannot describe the beauty of the lips, cheeks, teeth, and nose,
Even Śesh Nāg,[17] seeing the beautiful hair, sighs deeply.
Śrī Sarasvatī Devī.
Tr. Mrs. Keay.
AN EVENING ON THE LAGOON
Withdrawn in silence from the raging sea,
Behind the dark and waving grove of palm
In glorious solitude at even calm
We glide at water’s edge, towards the lea
Away from busy haunts; Eternity
And Love, the burden of our rapturous psalm,
As ’neath the star-lit heaven we breathe the balm
Of Nature’s stillness, lulling you and me
To dream in soft ethereal realms of bliss
Where flits no darkening shadow, dwells no care
And all is sweetness and ecstatic light,
The plighted faith renewed with every kiss
Of fervent gratitude for all our share
Of blessed weal in life, by day and night.
P. Seshadri.
AT THE TEMPLE
Three little girls were on the temple-stair
Waiting for worship at the inner shrine;
Their tiny hands betrayed a hidden sign
Of weariness, devoid of strength to bear
Their wealth of luscious fruit and offerings rare—
But still they stood. “What shall the Gods assign
To crown your lives?” I asked, “what blessings fine
Will cheer with happiness your faces fair?”
“A mass of glittering jewels,” said one child,
“Bracelet and necklace, shining gold waistband
And pearl ear-drop.” “Fine robes of richest lace
And gayest foam-spun silk,” another willed.
The third, with head bent down and trembling hand,
Whispered, “A lovely partner on life’s ways.”