MOTHER INDIA
The whole world celebrated Earth Day on 22nd
April. It was an annual affair and the
purpose was to emphasise the necessity of keeping mother earth absolutely neat,
clean and pollution-free. Unfortunately, this necessity has been criminally
ignored by mankind and the results in terms of bad health and disagreeable hygiene
are disastrous in almost every part of the world.
“Mother India” is a poem written by a Bengali poet,
playwright and musician D.L.Roy also known as d D.L.Ray. He was born in Krishnanagar on 19th
July 1863 and passed away on 17th May 1913. He composed more than
500 songs and authored a number of plays.
By his mental inclination, he was a Hindu mythologist and nationalist.
The poem that follows shows his love for Mother India. It was
translated into English by Indian philosopher Sri Aurobindo Ghosh (1872-1950)
more than one hundred years ago. Its relevance today is undeniable when Mother
India like other countries of the world is afflicted with the incurable Corona
Virus known as Covid-19.
D.L.Ray loved India most enthusiastically and most
spiritually. In fact, every patriotic person possesses a natural urge to think
seriously about the welfare of his
country both in good and bad times. Anyone who lacks this urge is more of a
brute, than human being,
Sri Aurobindo’s translation of D.L.Roy’s poem reads as under:
“India, my
India, where first human eyes awoke to heavenly light, all Asia’s holy place of
pilgrimage, great Motherland of might! World-mother, first giver to humankind
of philosophy and sacred lore, knowledge thou gav’st to man, God-love, works,
art, religion’s opened door.
India, my
India, who dare call thee a thing for pity’s grace today? Mother of wisdom,
worship, works, nurse of the spirit’s inward ray!
To thy race,
O India, God himself once sang the Song of Songs divine, Upon thy dust Gouranga
danced and drank God-love’s mysterious wine Here the Sannyasin Son of Kings lit
up compassion’s deathless sun, The
youthful Yogin, Shankar, taught the gospel: “I and He are one.”
India, my
India, who dare call thee a thing for pity’s grace today? Mother of wisdom,
worship, works, nurse of the spirit’s inward ray!
Are thou not
she, that India, where the Aryan Rishis chanted high, The Veda’s deep and
dateless hymns and are we not their
progeny , Armed with the great tradition we shall walk the earth with heads
unbowed, O Mother, those who bear that glorious past may well be brave and
proud.
India, my India,
who dare call thee a thing for pity’s grace today? Mother of wisdom, worship,
works, nurse of the spirit’s inward ray!
O even with
all that grandeur dwarfed or turned to bitter loss and maim, How shall we mourn
who are thy children and can vaunt thy mighty name? Before us still there
floats the ideal of those splendid days of gold: A new world in our vision
wakes, Love’s India we shall rise to mould.
India, my
India, who dare call thee a thing for pity’s grace today? Mother of wisdom, worship, works, nurse of
the spirit’s inward ray!”
28th
April 2020 G. R. KANWAL
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