Neighbors and passersby poured in.
They did everything to console
the panic-stricken mother
as in the veranda
her two year old child played
with a viper-
A game of life and death.

Maybe he was bitten
Maybe he was not.
Shocked and speechless- the people
kept a distance.
They grouped and talked
about poison and death
and blamed the careless mother.

Not a single rationalist emerged
from the crowd.
No one dared to get near the event horizon.
More people, more prayers, more screams,
more chaos and more spectators.

Only the creature took the initiative.
It darted its fork in and out
tasting the air, sending paralytic
waves across the crowd.

Then wriggled a bit,
loosening itself from the child’s grip
and crawled away from his vicinity.
 
The play ended
The child was searched
Not a fang mark on his body
Not a symptom of venom in his blood
He didn’t cry
He wasn’t bitten.

The crowd thanked god and
cursed the viper a hundred times.
The mother cried
She kissed her child.

The viper was searched and killed.
A poem- Night of the scorpion
by Nissim Ezekiel flashed in my mind.
Sorry Nissim,
Our attitudes have changed.
The viper was not lucky
As your scorpion.

Like those castrated clap

Who can only dance in

And out side of an alley.

Here is no living words for

Unknown names, and life exists

Only to die like a nameless chicken

In an urban market.

Here word generates only

To boost the hungry members.

The numbers are all in

The line with fluttering flags

To gather colours.

I live in a lame land

Among those lame dwellers.

All, all alike endear’d, grown, ungrown, young or old,

Strong, ample, fair, enduring, capable, rich,

Prennial with the Earth, with freedom, Law and Love…” – Whitman

Diversity or variety is a prerequisite for the sustainability of life. Quite often revolutionists, reformists and religious and political thinkers are directed towards mono culture in their attempt to establish a utopian State. The egocentric globalized economy also strives to spread mono civilization, culture and language for easy exploitation. It may happen due to various factors: the powerful culture’s arrogant belief that they are the best and they always do the right so much so the new political economy’s choice to go for the best in the labour market (the best is identified as those who satisfy the fixed standard set by the business class). This uniformity is absolutely marring the mechanics of the existence of life. When variety is lost however small it is, the balance of life is drastically affected. So when one strives to bring about uniformity in anything in life it will backfire in many ways because nature decides its balance. Poetry and literature must be always inclusive of all cultures, sect of people, ways of life etc. Inclusive doesn’t always mean approval; it means reflection, a critical reflection whenever needed. Indian Ruminations is also here to preserve and reflect all that is variety in life and writing, however meager they are. In every issue of Indian Ruminations this variety writing and topics are given priority so that all voices and all aspects of life are heard by all sections of people.

Chief Editors

Sandhya S.N & J.T Jayasingh

March 2013

Derozio had his burning passion for freedom and intoxicating urge for liberation from all kinds of bondages. He was a powerful catalytic agent of massive socio-cultural changes that took place under the influence of Renaissance. If we understand Derozio and his poems, we can understand that there is reflection of patriotism in his every poetic expression. He is acknowledged as first Indo-Anglian poet. K. S. Ramamurti in his introduction of his anthology – ‘Twenty-five Indian Poets in English’ said, “Indian poetry in English is said to have begun with Henry Louis Vivian Derozio who was not only a poet but also a teacher of poet.” As a teacher of poet he infused in the minds of his young students the feelings of patriotism with his poems. His poems ‘The Fakir of Jungheera’ and ‘The Magnus Opus’ vitalized the new spirit of Renaissance and thus infused in young minds patriotic urge. He was really a moving spirit of patriotism.

To awake patriotism and nationalism in young Indians Derozio sang the glory and grandeur of the golden past of history in his poems which fired patriotic passions in young minds. ‘To India-My Native Land’, ‘The Harp of India’, ‘The Golden Vase’ are patriotic in passion and powerful to ignite patriotism in mind. M. K. Naik remarks in his book ‘A History of Indian English Literature’ - “A noteworthy feature of Derozio’s poetry is its burning nationalistic zeal. Poems like ‘To India-My Native Land’, ‘The Harp of India’ and ‘To the Peoples of the Hindoo College’ have an unmistakable authenticity of patriotic utterance which stamps Derozio as an Indian English poet who in truly a son of the soil.”

‘The Harp of India’ is an address to the harp. Here Derozio grieves at the lost glory of India and desires to reclaim the golden glory. Patriotism is blended here with Byronic melancholy as his verse is the echo of the voice of Byron and Moore. Derozio‘s love for past glory is actually in-grained in his patriotic spirit. The octave tells the decadent and sorry condition of the harp, which lies unstrung on a lonely, withered bough, bound in the fatal chain of silence. In the sestet, the poet invokes the musicians of the past whose worthy hands once created many sweet melodies on the harps. Finally he wishes -

“–but if thy notes divine

May be by mortal wakened once again,

Harp of my country, let me strike the strain! ”

So the poet is optimistic. The poem ends with hope of renewal. He wishes divine notes of the harp, “Harp of my country” can be revived once again. In the expression ‘my country’ we feel poet’s deep love and patriotism for our country.

Derozio was popular among his students for his patriotism, wisdom and deep knowledge. He is supposed to be the first poet in Bengal who wrote patriotic sonnet ‘To India – My Native Land’. This poem is included at first in his long poem ‘The Fakir of Jungheera’. In this poem Derozio again glorified Indian golden past. He imagines India as a goddess for her halo of glory. He utters -

“My country, in thy days of glory past

A beauteous halo circled round thy brow

And worshipped as a deity”

Derozio desires to revive the past glory with patriotic devotion. He writes -

“Well-let me dive into the depths of time

And bring from out the ages that have rolled

A few small fragments of those wrecks sublime

Which human eye may never more behold.”

R. K. Dasgupta has written that Derozio’s sonnet ‘To India-My Native Land’ is “….The poetical expression of our new patriotism….when Derozio wrote these lines, there was no patriotic song in the Bengali language and not many songs composed several decades later seemed to echo the sentiments of these first poems of our nationalist airs…. its significance in the history of Indian patriotism is that it is more than paean of our ancient glory; it is also a vow of service to the country.”

Derozio’s passions for liberty and patriotic inspiration are well expressed in his short poems. In the Hindu College he taught Greek history and the two epics of Homer. Greeks were his inspiration. Greece was a symbol of liberty, bravery and patriotism. In this glorious civilization emancipation was the only motto and patriotism was in there blood. Derozio’s short pomes – ‘The Greeks at Marathon’, ‘Address to the Greeks’, ‘Thermopylae’ and ‘Freedom to the Slave’ had the fire of patriotism.

In the ‘Address to the Greeks’ he wrote –

“The ground that ye tread, by your fathers was trod

Their bloodshed for freedom has hallowed the sod”

Here the Greeks are encouraged to go ahead, the heroism of the ancient Greeks is praised, urge for freedom is highlighted and their patriotic spirit is glorified. This poetic call is actually to ingrain patriotic urge in the minds of freedom lovers of any civilization. In the same poem the lines –

“Strike, strike, as yours fathers of old would have done

Unite and the field with your liberty’s won!”- are inspiring and patriotic to the march of victories in war not only to the Greeks but also any freedom loving civilization.

In the poem ‘Greece’ Derozio recasts the glorious history of the Greeks to inspire them in the battle against Turkees. The European countries did not help the Greeks in their crises where Greece contributed much to European civilization. So Derozio writes –

“Will Europe hear? Ah! No-ah! No-

She coldly turns from thee,

Thine own right arm, and battle-blade

Must win the victory.”

Here the song of ultimate victory is sung with patriotic passion which may inspire any chained country.

‘The Greeks at Marathon’ is written to celebrate the victory of the Greeks in the battle of Marathon. Patriotic heroes are glorified and deified here for winning freedom of their country. The poet writes –

“This is freedoms hallowed earth,

Hallowed by a deed of worth;

Let another such be done

On this field of Marathon,

Seek we freedom? Greecian, on!

Freedom’s field is Marathon.”

Patriotic fervour also finds poetic revelation in his poem ‘Independence’. The flame of freedom in his heart may succumb to a stormy wind. The poet writes –

“My heart and shall the little lamp

My glorious image be….”

The poem, ‘The Freedom to the Slave’ is also an echo of patriotic passion of fiercely freedom loving spirits. In this poem the poet pays attribute to all who are fighting for freedom. He writes –

“And glory to the breast that bleeds

Bleeds nobly to be free !

Blest be the generous hand that breaks

The chain that a tyrant gave,

And feeling for degraded man

Gives freedom to the slave”

This poem is applicable not only to the slave but all the freedom loving people.

Derozio was out and out an Indian patriot. Patriotism is the main inspiration in every vein of his poem. He is the first to sing of freedom that lights the altar of soul with everlasting flame. His poetic outburst in light of renaissance was most remarkable part of his patriotic feelings. He planted the seeds of patriotism in the minds of his pupils and his countrymen. His poems are really pregnant with patriotism and nationalism.

Mother’s suppressed sobs and Daddy’s aggressive talk are disturbing her. “Can’t they keep quiet?” How long was this going on? It is impossible to take rest.

“What does the doctor say? Won’t she recover from this shock? Shall we, take her to some other hospital?”

Prolonged crying has changed mamma’s voice.  Poor mamma. Mini wanted to console her mother. No she won’t open her eyes, because you cannot die if you keep them open.

“Consulting another hospital will only invite more disgrace. What else?” Daddy still sounded angry. How he had shouted and beaten her up. Was it then that Mini began to contemplate about death? She can’t remember. Even after closing the eyes, those scenes do not vanish. Who brought that policeman? Daddy was saying that the hospital people were behind it; that policeman is a nut. I must ask “shakthiman” to handle him.

He was pretending to be very loving while asking all those questions.

“Did you call him or did he come to you?”

Mamma screamed when she heard that. That was when Mini decided to die. Even after she closed her eyes and lied still, the policeman went on questioning.

Doctor Aunty came and sent him away.

Heard what he told Daddy while going out?

“Call me when she awakes. I still have more things to know.”   Only if I wake up you will be informed, Isn’t it?

“I can take no more of this I am tired.”

Now it is daddy who is breaking down and mother is consoling him.

“All this is fate. We will go and live somewhere else with our daughter.

“Where to? These press people will write about it. Are they inhuman? Don’t they have daughters?

Somebody is knocking on the door. Who is coming? Perhaps, the nurse. More injections?

Cannot find out who is coming. Why is everyone silent?

“It was shocking. So cruel could you reorganize the culprit?”

Oh! It is Varghese uncle.  Nilu’s father, Daddy’s best friend.

“We did not say anything to Nilu. She is too young to understand all this.” Sheela aunty is also there.

“Where is Nilu? If only Nilu had come, I could have found out about yesterday’s Poppe show.

“Still who did this drastic thing? Terrible. Rajan and Geetha, did you return late from the office?

Mother is crying again. Can’t Sheela aunty keep quiet? Came to torment mother.

“Don’t cry Geetha. The inevitable has happened. What is the use of crying? Anyway you change Mini’s school. When her old friends desert her, she will feel bad. Let us make a move. Neelu is in the car.

Why didn’t Neelu come to meet Mini? Why had she remained in the car? Minikutty and Neelu love each other so much. Why did Sheela aunty speak about changing the school? It seems her old friends would desert her. Minikutty couldn’t follow the reason behind that. She never had a fight with anyone.

“Oh! What a fantastic love! Just came to aggravate our agonies. I cannot bear this” Mother is getting annoyed now.

From now on life is going to be like this for us. If only people would leave us alone instead of coming and sympathizing like this. There is no fury in father’s voice now.

“Please call sister. The drip is almost over.”

“I can’t Geetha. I just don’t have the strength to get out of this room”.

“I will go and tell. My daughter did not commit any mistake.”

It seems mother has gone. Could hear the door being closed.

“Oh! My darling daughter. Nothing is wrong with you. Open your eyes and say something. You are papa’s darling”.

Father kissed her forehead and tears fell on her face. Even though he occasionally gets angry, papa is actually a weak person. Mamma might cry and short, but she is capable of facing anything.

Sister came and removed the drip. Minikutty felt a slight pain. Doesn’t matter. Such insignificant   pains are no more a problem for her.

“We will fix the drip again in the evening. Doctor said she requires one more bottle of blood. When she wakes up you can give her tea or rice soup.  When the urine bag is full, you can call me” Sister left.

This sister is saying too many things and too quickly. Just like Shalini teacher. How can she meet Shalini teacher if she changed her school like Sheela aunty suggested. A few days back mother said that the school need be changed only in the 8^th standard.  Minikutty is now in fourth standard.

“Molu, drink some water. Mamma will spoon feed you.”

Feeling very thirsty. But Minikutty won’t be able to die of she opens her eyes.

“Darling, mother is shaking her.

“Can’t mamma shake her gently? Her whole body is aching unbearably. Over that comes mamma’s shaking.”

“Mamma’s golden girl is alright. Mamma and Papa are there to get anything for you. My kid, please open your eyes once.”

Hearing Mother’s sweet talk, Minikutty feels like opening her eyes.  It makes her skeptical about dying. Who else in there for mamma and papa other than her?

“Who is knocking the door so loudly?” What happened sister? I just cannot believe. Who has hurt my daughter?

Oh! It is Gopu uncle. Uncle is Minikutty’s best friend. She was pacified.

“Molu, why are you sleeping like this? What happened?

Now Gopu uncle is also shaking her. Don’t they all know that it is hurting her?

Mother is crying again? “She is silent Gopu; and also keeps her eyes closed. Doctor says she is under a shock. You please call my daughter, and ask her to say something.”

It seems my mother is not going to stop crying.

“Brother, do you know who the culprit is? Whoever he is, I’ll kill him and won’t let him go even if I die.”

Gopu uncle is talking just as in the movies.

Mini should open her eyes to identify the person. Even then what is the use? Isn’t the life of my child spoilt?

“Please, brother, what if your too begin to talk like this? What has happened to her? Nothing.  Wounds occur in an accident. They will cause pain too. When the wound heals the pain will also disappear. It’s only that much.

Listening to Gopu uncle’s words is consoling Mini. But what was her accident? A monster had abducted Mini and wanted to eat her. Mini was scared and screamed. The monster closed her mouth. She doesn’t remember anything else. Later she remembers her father beating her. When did that stupid policeman arrive? Minikutty never invited the monster as the policeman asked. He came when she was sitting in front of her house after alighting from the school bus. She can clearly remember that she thought he would kill her; and suck her blood just like the monster in Amarchithrakatha.

“Gopu, you just go to the police station. We will pay them any amount of money to hush up the incident without registering any case.

From the talk father sounds shattered.

“Brother, don’t be like this. Whatever has happened to Mini has happened. We should think that such a thing should never be repeated.”

“You can talk such things. But I cannot bear anything anymore.”

“Anyway I am not going to leave him alone. Whoever he is, we have to find him out”.

“I will tell you mamma.”

Everyone, father, mother and Gopu uncle were shocked. Mamma came running and took to her arms.

“Say it fast my kid. Who was that wicked man? Gopu uncle would beat him up.

Mini began to talk.

“He was a monster. But no fire came out of his eyes or smoke from his mouth. He had two eyes, and a big nose. A mouth full of teeth and a tongue. He had two hands and a pair of legs. He was a monster like a human being, a monster just like an ordinary human being.”

-(Anonymous)

Literary and cultural expressions and activities are always made a sacrifice at the altar of political plays in the modern world. Political decision makers, especially from India and Pakistan try to divert the attention of their respective citizens from their failings by creating artificial tensions between the two armies and the governments ultimately to make the people sentimental and antagonistic to each other. This time it was triggered by Pakistan to catch fish in the coming election and the counterpart (India) as ever, responded in the same unreasonable and emotional way by first sending back Pakistan hockey players from India and then by trying to cancel the Pakistani theatre group, Ajoka, run by the peace activist, Ms. Gauhar to stage a play in India. But these unfortunate decisions taken by the Indian organizations fearing the extremists groups in India fortunately reveals and consolidates the great truth that literary and cultural expressions have the antidote in them to quench mutual hatred and misunderstanding. Cultural exchanges can bring together people disrupting the pseudo tensions created by political drama. Hence it is the urgent responsibility of cultural organizers and literary media to arrange more programs involving artists and writers of India and Pakistan in the coming years until finally the two countries become friendly even politically.

Chief Editors

Sandhya S.N & J.T Jayasingh

January 2013

A bunch of rowdies from Isabella’s plague infested cities;

Cross the Terra Incognito to plague the inhabitants of the New World;

Mankind before had never seen conflicts between two more unequal civilisations;

This was a clash between the ‘Heathen’ and the bearers of Christ’s benevolence.

A clash between peace loving and war-mongering nations;

A conflict between the ‘Obsidian swords’ and ‘ Brute Steel’;

A war raged for gore, greed and a gullible monarchy.

Columbus, you are now crowned in glory;

The whole world celebrates your triumphant entry;

Pity that humans have so short a memory;

Shame that Man is so gullible a creature;

Anger that a manipulative media is so unhistorical.

If the millions of innocent butchered in cold blood;

From Hispaniola to Machu Pichu reflect deeds worthy of emulation and adulation;

Then all the Pol-Pots and psychopathic dictators of today are but children of these Spanish Pioneers.

Columbus, you and your younger sibling are guilty of crimes against humanity;

For which, if tried, even Nuremburg would pale into insignificance;
But alas! This world remembers only One Hitler; whereas, O shameless Pizarro and Cortez!

Your loins were made of the same filthy stiff as the Fascists we all love to hate.

With scars given to her last noon.

Moaning and pain proceed to the moon,

Yes; it is the fourth phase f waning moon.

Hunger, thirst and painful strides,

Its all for his longer life

Hopes, desires, logic and rights,

All crushed under the word called wife.

Her swollen face inside the saree,

Chants hymns through thirsty throat.

All waiting eyes glued on clouds,

As moon is engulfed in its shroud

Then it shines with waning face.

Bearing same mark scars on the face.

All lifts their thin wired filters,

To see both the gods in alter.

All got blessed by touching the feet.

She still waits for her god’s feet.

Her god is busy in political twit.

And have no time except physical needs.

At last hasty god comes with water,

And asks her to come early in slaughter

Those owning an e-book device or tablet jumped from 18 percent to 33 percent, with much of that increase coming from last year’s holiday season, when millions received Kindles, Nooks and other e-readers as gifts.

Awareness that libraries offer digital texts grew from 24 percent to 31 percent.

The telephone survey of 2,252 people aged 16 and older was conducted from Oct. 15 to Nov. 10. It has a sampling error margin of plus or minus 2.3 percentage points.

D’Souza said the festival would change the literary profile of the Agra region. “All must come together to promote the literary heritage in a positive direction,” he urged.

Speaking on the occasion, social activist Shivani Chaturvedi said that the whole Braj region is a repository of rich Hindi and Urdu literature which needs to be projected at the national level.

IT professional Rakshit Tandon, who has designed tajliteraturefestival.com, said that the website in a book format “is not only attractive but user-friendly”.

“Interviews with authors would be added along with their detailed bio-datas,” he added.