Jas Yonjan Pyasi
When the self ousts the self
and the self exiles the self
in search of a vast sky
in search of a nation not discovered hitherto
running away all alone, aimless and hapless
moving alone, crying alone, helpless, and almost dead
I came to that fort, battered by war
where, facing the daggers of the foes
a single piece of ancestor’s khukri too
had rusted to soil.
This has made me more and more confident
that no past of mine is alive in any tale
and no future shall be archived as history
merely carrying the pains of a worthless present
getting smothered and infected in the cancerous sun, though
terrorized, losing the way when the chamar swallows the moon, though
losing the track, and getting frightened at a foggy time, though
I have to invent a clod of earth
that may not have received even a bird’s shit
I need to discovered an island, tiny though
and need to procure a nation
and making a conjecture of its eastern horizon
I need to wait for a new morning, as done by Mod-fu-San.
And lo, conceiving the zygote of a thought to create a new morning
I started dreaming colorful dreams inside a fictitious night
standing on the legs of Vasco-de-Gama
I am ruling the empire of Robinson Crusoe
where I, spotless like white milk
am standing under the white flag of my nation
singing the long national anthem of cosmic vacuity and silence.
When the anthem finishes, I see
a man comes from far away, with a thorny crown
and sweats of blood all over
carrying a cross upon the shoulders,
smiles and says, “Allow me to sow
the seeds of religion in your new nation.”
I can see –
a man with shaven head and in saffron robes
lands from above, and stands near me
in serious moods and half-closed eyes, and says,
“Allow me to plant the seedlings of non-violence in your new nation.”
I can see –
an old man from below
screening the wounds on the breast with Gita
comes up, walking with a stick
sits near me; smiles and says,
“Allow me to cultivate truth and peace in your new nation.”
White pigeons from east and west, from north and south,
come flying with letters of congratulation in their beaks
and fly, dropping them in my front.
Some letters are from Lincoln, Lenin or Ho-Chi-Minh,
some are from Devkota, Rembrandt and Saris,
some from Romeo, Majnu and Omar Khayyam,
and some from those who die on hill, vales and streets.
At that moment, giving myself the smiles of utter satisfaction,
I yell, “Eureka! Eureka!” for myself
and scream the voice of invention for myself
and in effect, the dream-walls of the fictitious night
collapse, and fall upon me,
trying to bury me
and to kill me
this way, getting defeated from my own dreams too
I know not,
in search of what kind of a victory
I landed on such a place
where, the shady cycus trees too,
eaten up by consumption
stand feebly, trembling on the ground, pleading the chilly evening wind
to bestow some more length to their life
this way, as I wondered carrying an unbelievable truth
I fancied, the blackened and inverted Himalayas too were singing
the mourning numbers of tandav* with the sky.
This way, during my search for a faith amidst difficulties,
I sense a fragrance of words from flowers in the garden
fencing the frontiers with barbed wire
I feel, people have changed their faces into Bhairav’s* mask
it seems, this city is advertising the peak of civilization
in maidens’ naked dance known as ‘striptease.’
This is not all!
Looking at the barren, infertile fields, rendered sand-like
by repeated operation with scientific tools
and repeated restoration to life by scientific tonic, tablets and powders,
I feel, every human should abandon craving for life.
Therefore, here
in spite of getting the rights to remain within,
how many more foundations can be told about –
how many hours of an exiled life like this can be colored?
I accept being exiled,
I accept being ousted,
I am ready to freeze as snow the whole night,
but have no longing to flow worthlessly as a river
I am not bent on crying, when this murky Dark Age breathes its last
rather, I would opt
to see a new sun,
rise from the new horizon of a new nation.
[Pyasi is a reputed poet and lyricist from Darjeeling. His published works include Chithi (Novelette, 1978), Pyasika Kehi Samalochana (1983), Euta Deshko Khojma (Collection of poems, 1985), Parasmani Pradhan : Kehi Kriti Keiran (1987), Buddhadev Basu (Biography, 1992), Naya Suryako Pratiksyama (Play, 1992), and Shanti Sandeha (Collection of poems, 2002)]