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March 24, 2003
Madhushala (The Tavern)

A tribute to Harivansh Rai Bachchan, who passed away earlier this year.

When you bear my corpse, pallbearers, remember this!
Call not the name of God, but call to the truth that is the tavern.

Harivansh Rai Bachchan was born in 1907 and was educated at Allahabad University, Banaras Hindu University and Cambridge Univeristy. He was the first Indian ever to receive a PhD in English at the latter. Returning to India in 1954, he taught and was also a radio broadcaster. He has published seventy-five books, three for children, and has translated Shakespeare's tragedies into Hindi. Most people today, however, will perhaps identify him more easily as Amitabh Bachchan's father.

Madhushala, The Tavern, is a poem in the tradition of Sufi mysticism of Persian poets like Omar Khayyam which employs the symbols of wine and its associates to express the reaction of a sensitive soul to life its rich variety, its intoxicating loveliness and also its poignant frustrations. "Madhushala" is the epitome of "live in the present". It stresses the importance of "now". It is too vexing to think of tomorrow, too frustrating to wail over the bygone days. Within the limited scope of poetry, Bachchan has portrayed a way of life.

Form and content have been beautifully woven into a tapestry of romance, speaking for the here and now. The sheer lyricism of verse, its variety of moods, its vivid imagery representing the antidote to the pain and frustration of life.

Here is a translation of a few stanzas from his most famous work.

Madhushaala

Seeking wine, the drinker leaves home for the tavern.
Perplexed, he asks, "Which path will take me there?"
People show him different ways, but this is what I have to say,
"Pick a path and keep walking. You will find the tavern."

Call it not lava, though it flows red, like a tongue of flame.
Call it not the blistered heart, for it is only foaming wine.
Lost memories serve the wine, that intoxicates with pain.
If you find happiness in suffering, come to my tavern.

Only once every year, the fires of Holi are lit.
Only once is the game played and are garlands of lamps lit.
But, O, those who are lost in the world, come and see the tavern any day,
The tavern celebrates a Holi, every morning and a Diwali every night.

In this brief life, how much can I love, how much can I drink
Right on arrival in this world, I became 'destined-to-go'
Parting and farewell arrangements I have seen just following welcome
Barely upon opening, started to close my life's wonderful madhushaalaa.

Each day, O companion, spills more wine from my life.
Each day, O fortunate one, this goblet, my body, is burnt.
Each day, O lovely lady, this wine-maiden, my youth, distances itself from me.
Each day, O beauty, this tavern, my Life, is drying up.

(Harivansh Rai Bachchan passed away earlier this year. During his lifetime, he had become one of the leading lights of Hindi literature - especially during times when writings in the vernacular have recieved little attention.)

- compiled by Manish Jain

Posted by collective at March 24, 2003 08:13 PM