GuruDakshina - A Guru's Fee

(P A R T  1)

Into the forest Drona led,

Princes of the palace bred,

To make men and kings of boys,

Archery or fencing - deadly choice!

They setup camps, routines and such,

Dawn to dusk, they slogged much,

"learn, practice, master" spake the Guru,

"To perfect any life skill", 't’was only true!

As the princes sweat, blood and tears,

A tribal boy Eklavya, afar observed,

'This how you build a bow?',

'The string, angle, tension, whoa!'

After sunset he went to his hamlet,

Built a bow of oak branch, animal gut,

Idolized the Guru instructing only him,

“Learn, practice, master” his only hymn!

Over hours-days-weeks-months,

Important craft, the princes learnt ,

Eklavya on his part, persever’d

Ran triple-shifts, hut-life was tough!

Home-made targets, arrows, and some,

Again & a’gain, till he could do it in his REM,

Soon he was the best shot out there,

Better than Arjuna, Drona's protege' !

(P A R T  2 )

Training done, the princes’ graduated,

Skills for the Great War, of the future collected.

 “Celebrate!”, the Guru declared,

A royal hunt  was soon mounted.

Horses, dogs, marksmen & young blood,

Set out to test, abilities newfound,

The dogs scented a game in the forest,

Chased after it with breaths hot and torrid!

They entered the thickset, raucous and wild,

A marauding party, hot on heels.

Soon silence was all  that was heard,

The search party of dogs, dumbfounded returned!

Fed a mouthful of  precise arrows,

Waterboarded by a quiverful of sorrows,

Arjuna fascinated, wondered aloud,

“Find me the archer with such bravado!”

Drona formulated thoughts his own,

“Someone  really archered this well?,

Not even be a pupil I had taught,

Yes find me him, Such  pomp, what  show!”

Shortly the royal party arrived,

Reached a large clearing and a sight,

Manned by a tribal boy, fiercely upstanding,

His herd,  proudly and fiercely protecting.

 “Who are you boy What is your name?”

Thundered Drona in a demanding tone,

You do this to our royal hounds?

With malice and intent or unknowingly?”

  

“Eklavya at your service sire”,

Bowed the tribal with humility,

No matter his hamlet upbringing,

He knew honor, he knew dignity.

“I tend to my sheep, I protect them like children,

So they can feed me & my tribe, through humdrum.

Your hounds came a barking,

My sheep they were a scaring.

Had no choice but shut them,

Arrows in bulk had to be deployed,

A mechanism of  plain defense,

Sire, I make no  simple pretense.

Surely you agree  O wise one?

Forced as my move, but also just?

You are sage and earned, hence I ask,

Fairness I plead in your judginess task”

( P A R T  3)

“Who taught you to shoot boy?”

Thundered Drona almost accusingly,

Eyes on an idol, yonder a banyan tree,

With a likeness,  curiously to he,

“You Gurudev”, offered Eklavya meekly,

“My only teacher, mentor”, he  submitted humbly.

Eyes narrowed, Drona shenanigan’d,

His mind raced to protect his illustrious student,

“In which case you will have no objection,

In providing me due compensation.

For helping yourself  to unpaid lessons,

When you weren’t exactly my student.”

Eklavya replied , with no hesitation,

“Of course Gurudev. Your will is my command”

Drona had him, where he wanted,

Keeping Arjuna’s status of best archer protected.

“Wonderful then son, so shall it be!

The thumb of your right hand,

Weilding your very arrow dance,

I demand you give now to me.”

The princes gasped, when they heard this,

This cruel and unrelenting, could their Guru be?

Arjuna’s eyes welled up in tears,

He too understood, this cruel decree!

  

They watched as Eklavya neither slowed nor thought,

Pulled his dagger, to the web of his palm,

Looked his Guru straight in the eye,

Relieved his  thumb, like a lotus  from its stalk.

The princes returned to live with the thought,

Perhaps Arjuna wasn’t the best of all.

Drona too felt the curse of his ask,

Caused damage to two of his stars.

(Epilogue)

Ek –lavya decapacitated physically,

Parth full of doubts and worry,

The Great War he almost fled,

 Until Sarathy pulled him from the brink back , with the Gita-song!

In conversation with an AI - adhik intelligence

In Betterment

have seen our ancestors
flawed, broken, mangled
which needs undone
for myself if allowed.

as i strive to better me
praying fervently my genes
have the programming to
let me take that road.

the hope is this change
is entirely mine
not resisted by the wiring
of a handed down code.

the goal is this
transformation somehow
transmits ungenetically
into my offspring.

so no future Gens-X,Y,Z
need an Arc built
nor prevent any deluge
from coming about.

Main Kaisa Mussalman Hoon Bhai (What Sort of a Muslim Am I?) - a translation.

Main Kaisa Mussalmaan Hoon Bhai?
Poet : Hussain Haidry
Watch on Youtube a rendition of the same in the original Hindustani.

Sadak pe cigarrete peete waqt joh azaan sunaee di mujhko Toh yaad aaya ki waqt hai kya Aur yeh baat zehan mein aayi Ki main kaisa mussalmaan hoon bhai? Main shia hoon ya sunni hoon Main khoja hoon ya bohri hoon Main gaon se hoon yah shehri hoon Main baaghi hoon yah sufi hoon Main quomi hoon yah dhongi hoon Main kaisa mussalmaan hoon bhai. Main sajda karnewaala hoon Ya jhatka khanewaala hoon Main topi pehanke phirta hoon Ya daadhi udaake ke rehta hoon Main aayat kaul se padhta hoon Ya filmi gaane ramta hoon Main allah-allah karta hoon Ya sheikhon se ladd padta hoon Main kaisa mussalmaa hoon bhai? Main Hindustani mussalmaan hoon. Deccan se hoon, Up se hoon Bhopal se hoon, bengal se hoon,gujarat se hoon Har oonchi-neechi jaat se hoon Main hi hoon julaaha mochi bhi Main daaktar bhi hoon, darji bhi. Mujh mein Geeta ka saar bhi hai Ek Urdu ka akhbaar bhi hai. Mera ek mahina Ramzaan bhi hai Maine kiya Ganga ka snaan bhi hai. Apne hi taur se jeeta hoon Ek doh cigarette bhi peeta hoon Koi neta nas nas mein nahi Koi party ke bas mein nahin Main Hindustaani mussalmaan hoon. Khooni darwaaja mujh mein hai Ek bhool-bhulaiyya mujh mein hai Main babri ja ek gumbad hoon Main shehar ke beech ek sarhad hoon Jhuggiyon mein palti gurbat main Madrasson mein palti cheechat Main Dangon mein bhadakta shola main Kurte pe khoon ka dhabba main Main Hindustani mussalmaan hoon. Mandir ki chaukhat meri hai Mashid ke kible mere hain Gurdwaare ka darbaar mera Yeshughar ke girje mere hain Sau mein se chaudaah hoon lekin Chaudaahi kam nahin padhte Main poore sau mein basta hoon Poore sau mujhmein baste hain Mujhe ek nazar se dekh na tu Mere ek nahin sau chehre hain Sau rang ke hain kirdaar mere Saukalam se likhi kahaani hoon Main jitna mussalmaan hoon bhai Main utna hindustaani hoon Main Hindustaani mussalmaan hoon.

On the street as I smoked a cigarette, Heard the muezzin’s call for prayer, It struck me the hour of the day, Also a motherhood question pray, What sort of a Muslim was I? Am I a shia or a sunni? Am I a khoja or a bohra? Am I from the village or the city? Am I a rebel or a sufi? Am I a commoner or an impersonator? I am a Muslim of what sort? Am I one to offer devotion? Or one to suffer dissonance? Do I wear the skull cap and roam? Or make merry with my beard shorn? Do I read hymns from the Koran? Or sing tunes of Hindi film songs? Do I immerse myself in Allah’s name? Or argue with the sheikhs on a whim? I am a Muslim of what sort? I’m a Muslim the Indian kind. I am from the Deccan and from U.P I am from Bhopal and from M.P From Bengal and Gujarat, Higher and lower class too, I am a sweeper and cobbler, I am a doctor and weaver, I carry in me the Gita’s teachings, An Urdu newspaper &; its preachings, Set aside for me the month of Ramzaan Dipped in the Ganges, as well for my sins, I live by my rules,  Smoke a cigarette or two, No politics in my blood stream No party has control over me, I’m a Muslim, the Indian kind! Inside me is a blood-soaked door, Inside of me is a maze dour I am the minaret of the Babri, I am the border inside a city, In hutments I am the diffidence In seminaries I am the teaching In riots I am the flickering flame The blot of red on a shirt stained I’m a Muslim, the Indian kind! The quadrangle of the temple is mine, The square of the mosque I enshrine, The hall of the Gurdwara embraced, The bells of the church resonate in me. I am only 14 out of a 100 yet, 14 though is not one bit less, I make the 100 all complete, I carry the 100 within me, Don’t you look at me singularly, For I take 100 faces and shapes, 100 colorful characters do I make, Am a story scripted by 100 pens, As much a Muslim am I, The same much an Indian am I, I’m a Muslim, the Indian kind!

An Eye for the Relevant

"Awareness is important,
For it has a bearing,
On the immediate & distant.
Pick up your bows,
Archers, step up as I call,
But first, answer me my question."

Along came Durya,
First of the Kauravas,
An ace of weaponry.
Yodhana the warrior,
Puffed chest, he strode,
All pomp and show.

He took position, beside his bow.
'You see what, Prince?'
The Acharya, whispered.
'The tree, leaves & birds,
Branches, twigs et al,
Awareness extreme, I see all!'

Drona nodded gravely,
'Step down Prince,
A lesson's still undone!'
Trooped up & down, the princes,
Unable to satisfy the master,
Kaurava, Pandava, others.

Finally Drona called upon,
Arjuna the archer, ever dutiful,
His favorite pupil, sharply mindful.
He eased into a stance.
'What do you see Prince?'
Drona whispered, giving him chance.

'See an eye, is all'
Drona sought to distract,
'No leaves, twigs et al?'
'For your call, am ready,
Arjuna sees what he sees',
Pleased Acharya asked him to go!

The arrow zinged from the bow,
Clean through the clay eye of,
A parrot on a tree yonder.
To the lost students,
Chance begone, bit crestfallen.
'So then princes' advised Drona.

"The lesson of the day
Was not in shooting,
But in un-recognizing.
Awareness, while good,
Most of the time,
In life what matters is,

Simplicity & focus,
Clarity & aim,
Uncluttered zeal,
Stillness of gaze.
Important of all,
An Eye for the Relevant!"

Leftovers

the prompt was "Leftovers" with a 1000 char limit :

"Look Mother, what I have brought" Arjuna said, calling out to Kunti, the Pandava’s mother, having won Draupadi from amongst a court full of suitors, piercing the eye of a fish atop a circling wagon-wheel with a single arrow.

“Share it equally with your brothers” she said. To the five brothers, her pronouncements were above negotiation.

‘Impossible and improbable!’ said Bheema, always the one with the quick temper,

‘Doesn’t Draupadi have a say in all this?’ asked Nakul the first half of the twins of Madri.

‘Krishna, I am all ears. I would like to see you sell this one to me!’ said Draupadi to the great advisor of the Pandavas, sure nothing would come of this preposterous ask.

“Well it really is of your own doing. The fulfillment of a boon from a previous birth and penance. Lord Shiva had appeared before you and granted a wish. You wanted to be married to someone with five specific qualities. Each time you asked for that quality, the Lord had said Tathaastu – So Be It! He added, such a thing was possible only when the Pandavas were born, which is your current birth!’

‘Ah so this is a fulfillment of leftovers from a previous birth?’

‘Indeed my pretty one. The great cosmic reconciliation of accounts,' said Krishna knowingly.

Waqt Ne Kiya

Film: KAAGAZ KE PHOOL

Lyrics : Kaifi Azmi

Music : SD Burman
Singer : Geeta Dutt

Waqt Ne Kiya Kya Haseen Sitam Tum Rahe Na Tum, Hum Rahe Na Hum Beqaraar Dil Iss Tarah Mile Jis Tarah Kabhi, Hum Juda Na The Tum Bhi Kho Gaye, Hum Bhi Kho Gaye Ek Raah Par Chal Ke Do Qadam Jaayenge Kahan, Soojhta Nahin Chal Pade Magar Raasta Nahin Kya Talaash Hai, Kuchh Pata Nahin Bun Rahe Hain Dil, Khwaab Dum-B-Dum

वक़्त ने किया क्या हंसीं सितम तुम रहे न तुम हम रहे न हम बेक़रार दिल इस तरह मिले जिस तरह कभी हम जुदा न थे तुम भी खो गए, हम भी खो गए एक राह पर चलके दो क़दम जाएंगे कहाँ सूझता नहीं चल पड़े मगर रास्ता नहीं क्या तलाश है कुछ पता नहीं बुन रहे हैं दिल ख़्वाब दम-ब-दम

Time will do this, Treachery sublime, You’ll steadily change, Me too, I don’t remain. Fluttering Hearts do Mate in trepidation, As though we ne’er were, Ever in separation. You are pretty lost, Better I fare not, On a lonesome path, Couple of steps along. This journey wherefore, Undecided, unknown, Hardily we set out, On roads unmade yet. That which we seek, Unfound, Undefined, As our hearts stitched, Dreams beat by beat.