Mohan Koirala
The Nepalese faces of the Nepalese mother.
The Nepalese faces of the Nepalese clay.
I have transmuted into the Saptagandaki in faces.
And Saptakoushiki in dresses.
Ebbs of seven notes rose in my musings,
though Nepal is a single veena, a single sarangi.
One turahi, and one sahanai is Nepal
Nepal that has descended with the tunes
that pertain to the Sherpa women
on the murchunga,
Nepal that ascended with the notes of the Limbu women.
Touch with well-versed hands; this guitar plays the seven notes
touch the Saptagandaki too with skilled hands,
and that too plays the seven notes,
waves will rise along Kali’s bank –the Himalayan horizon,
hardness melts down
just a single note to the mute veena is wanting.
It is not difficult
the muteness ends with just a single touch
the obscured village is not far; the debut reach is wanting.
The waterfalls are strings of the sarangi,
they are cords of the murchunga,
whence the Saptagandaki rises, and whence the Saptakoshi echoes,
that violin, at whose touch
Tamor, Arun wake up from deep sleep,
that number which the rocky Himalayan cliffs hum,
that brings the ripples on this sarangi.
Those waves splash on the strings of the Nepalese guitar.
The Saptagandaki resounds in chorus,
the seven notes thrill with solo practice,
Saptakoshi therefore rises in the seven islands,
glimmering with diamond sheen.
Songs should resonate from this soil and music from this valley,
hills appear as hills though, and soil and stone as they are,
if in its heart a single guitar rests,
if a single note hangs to Tamor,
and a single heart fills the soul,
Come on, let’s sing! Let’s sing the anthem of Gandaki
Nepalese! Let’s sing the ditty of the Saptakoshi!
Do not sing in panic; do not sing with trebles,
do not stagger as you walk; a Nepali should not stagger.
The sky should wake to a single song.
A single melody should enrapture the earth,
singing and playing the notes alone is painful, granted
and granted too, that it is painful
to fill the color of imagination on musical beads,
wine is the very musing about this nation,
and its music an alehouse.
I will sing a Nepali number; you dance!
You sing a Nepali song, and I will dance to it.
Let it be as high as the one a Sherpa woman sings at Helambu,
let it resemble the feelings of a Thakali’s song,
let it be like the treble of a string at the touch of a Dolpali maid.
That song for peace; that melody for progress
that song for prosperity, and for love.
That song for help in trouble,
for Saptakoshi, for Saptagandaki,
for Arun, for Tamor,
that song for universal compassion,
that song for the Nepalese.
Mohan Koirala (1926-2007) is a renowned Nepali modern poet of the experimental cult. He is credited for giving Nepali poetry its prosaic color. His published works include Lek (Epic, 1969); Mohan Koiralaka Kavita (1974), Nun Sikharharu (1975), Sarnagi Bokeko Samudra (1976), Himchuli Raktim Chha (1979), Kavirabare Kehi Samikshya (1978), Nadi Kinarma Majhi (1981), Ritu Nimantran ra Garalpan (1984); Neelo Maha (Short epic, 1985); Euta Paplarko Paat (1991), Aaja Kasailai Bida Garnu Chha (2004), Gajpath (2004), Yatika Paila Khojdai (Collection of poetry, 2004).