Translations

Neither inanimate nor dead, nor from the dark of a mine, I am but a living being, a seed sprouting fine; Nurtured by the soil, timid, only to the call of the sky azure While dreams girdle me, I open my eyes unsure. Though not significant, amongst the perennials, I am trifle In this tiny shoot, still does play a silent rustle. Ripping through the earth, I can see the sunshine trickle gold So in my root lies the noble consciousness of forests age-old. Today only a sprout, I know, but leaflets not far behind Will toss their heads tomorrow accompanying the fierce wind: Then out I will spread my proud arms before all, And bloom flowers that will stun my neighbours tall. In the mighty storm, stays united every root of mine As my branches hinder, its strength will only decline. The friends, who, only to my summons raise their heads The fresh woods’ anthem among them will reverberate. Come the spring, we’d blend with the giants’ grove All ...

I n spite of the sky being blue, the breeze gentle and my good name being Niharranjan, I got married to one PaNkra 2 -dwelling-village-belle called Kshantamani and by the year end, on delivering a girl child, she named it­­­­ - BuNchi 3 . I mildly opposed this naming, to which everyone in the neighborhood correctly pointed out - “This ugly-dark skinned girl, what else do you wish to name it? Pushpamanjari?”       The girl was indeed ugly. Not only was its skin dark, but also one eye was small and the other big, and it kind of looked like an imbecile, the mouth always drooling. Undeniably, she cannot be called Pushpamanjari.       Two years later.       Kshantamani has gone to her father’s taking BuNchi along. A Sunday, nobody has a work at hand – the discussion was taking its course to various subjects till it suddenly reached ‘me’.        Nripen said –“See Nihar’s fa...