Επιμέλεια: Εύα Πετροπούλου Λιανού
AN ODE TO THE EASTERN WIND [PURVYIA]
O Eastern Wind! Our sweet Purva,
Come and saturate the land of my country
With an open heart,
Bring clouds, and rain,
And rainbows of prosperity.
The sun rises earliest in the East
And the wisdom
That dawned so early
Carry it, O wind, on thy shoulders,
And whisper it into the eager ears of the world.
This civilization saw so many sages
And seers, so many religions,
And so many prophets,
It is richly gospelled,
Won’t you carry its magic over to the magical universe?
This is the land, O wind, which bred Vedas,
This is the land which bred Buddha.
This is the land in which
Ideas became philosophies,
And the Caravan of Peace took off.
It saw Shankaracharya, it saw Yogis
It saw the Gita, it saw the Guru Granth Sahib,
Then it inhaled the Koran, and the Bible,
Is there any philosophy
Which has not touched this sacred land?
O Eastern Wind!
For long we have been lighting the lamps,
And inviting Light to Dispel Darkness
We have venerated the forests,
The rivers, the mountains, in fact, every object
We saw great prophets like Guru Nanak Dev
And Lord Krishna,
Great statesmen like Jawahar Lal Nehru, and Mahatama Gandhi,
Great martyrs like Neta ji Subhash Chandra Bose,
S. Bhagat Singh and Sarabha
Why the Caravan of the Great Men
Has witnessed a halt?
The frames of modern times
Crave for figures rooted in philosophy.
O Eastern Wind!
Where is thy fertility?
Rain wisdom once again,
So that hill and plain once again
Breed men of great grain,
Who could take to the warring world,
Our Message of Peace, Co-Existence
And Universal Love all over again.
India is what our scriptures teach.
India, unambiguously, unmistakably stands
For a united world of peace,
And shared prosperity.
Contradictions are nothing
But personality clashes
Fundamental to the growth of a living democracy.
FINGERS and FIGURINES by Jernail S Anand
In shaping a figure of beauty
It is not so much the
Elements that go into it
Or even the artist
As the hammer
And the chisel
Which cut its corners
And turns a mountain
Into a figurine of worship.
It was the scissors which were
Pressed into service
When from the great mass
A loaf of flesh was taken off
Placed on the table
And given cut after cut
To suit the great Sire’s vision.
The flower in myriad shapes
Looks pleasant to the eye
But who has seen
It’s struggle against winds
And a hundred ominous forces
It was this fight for being
Which gave it a definite shape.
The men who criticised you
Tried to block your way
And gave you
Anxious moments night and day
Gods who loved you
As well as the demonic sway
They all chiselled your great figure
As you stand today.
Dr Jernail S Anand from India
