Love is barren with out memento
Many a script,
Many a gift,
Did I present to you.
You paid me nil.
Acceptance by you,
A forbidden soul,
Itself is the token
Of remittance.
However, I want
From you a memento
To show to others
Your love for me,
Without which
What is love worth?
Give me your fallen hair.
Give me your bitten nail.
Bharata was proud of
Rama’s love by his sandals.
21.04.2002, Pakd
In the epic The Ramayana, Bharata brought the sandals of his brother, Rama, to keep them as the ruler the kingdom in the place of Rama, who, denouncing the throne, went to the exile.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Related quotes
Seeta, a pity.
Seeta, you are a noble lady,
So chaste, so modest and so graceful.
Rama is your noble lord,
So virtuous, so chivalrous and so truthful.
Ravna is your bitter lover,
So passionate, so devoted and so lustful.
Rama waged a war to redeem you.
Ravna laid his life to retain you.
Rama loved you, as you are his wife.
Ravna wanted you for what you are.
Rama tested you by fire.
If you failed, what would be your fate?
Can Ravna do so, if he were in Rama’s shoes?
Love of Rama is conditional
Love of Ravna is categorical.
Rama loves you; Ravna devours you.
You are second to none to Ravna,
Who lost everything for you and
Who could do anything for you?
Have not you committed a sin
In being the cause for killing a loving dog?
The love for keeping chastity,
More than you love for Rama,
Weighed on you to reject Ravna.
The love for your chastity,
Rather than his love for you,
Weighed on Rama to own you back.
Ravna’s love for you is pure.
He desired you more than Rama did.
You would have lived more vividly
Had you met Ravna first and married.
Instead, you were at loss to earn a sin.
I pity you.
06.06.2002, pakd
[Based on the Hindu Epic
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Rama
The Day That Kausalya Does Not See His Face
She is restless and sad so her heart does race
Every person speaking she thinks it is her son
She calls out His Name Rama Rama dear son!
She goes about her work her mind is on Rama
What a fate have I to be separated from Rama
Let no Mother suffer this and part with her son
What a sacrifice this is to have God as my son!
I am a Mother like any other who raised her son
I wished for Him the very best like a human son
Did not wish even for a human son to leave me
How can I bear this separation of Rama and me?
He is the best in the world for me and for you
Taking His Name they will have salvation true
I don't need anything in this world ever to gain
Rama dearest please show me your face again!
poem by Ashoka Harichandan
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Chappals
Missed was one out of the pair
And quite unaware was my husband
And I noticed and told him
As I am like Sita of Rama
Whose padukas are ever sacred and pristine
That Bharata even coronated them
That I could so sense the misfitted foot
That I could so sense its unholiness
Of today's youthful pairs
Mounted with dust and grime in sundry mounds
And one such somehow escaped
Possibly at a wedding function
To dirty my husband's one foot
But my chaste love got him a new pair
Which goes on emitting my shining love
Strong like Rama's padukas
Strong like Sita's imprinted feet
Wider- found stony in this country
That every heart is pleased about
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Hare Rama
Soaked in the tears of this home
Memories grind me into my bittered life.
Earlier days were lively in full bloom.
But soon got into this rancid life.
I was not the home minister, but
In the production of babies and dishes.
Not considered to be a prestigious post.
Unprofessionally professional was my status.
Cutting vegetables for curries and sambar
Grinding black gram and rice for dosas
Ooh la la la, for everyone at home, other
Than me finding no day for my own wishes.
Age has put me on the altar today.
Children ask me about wasted talents why?
What shall i say? that i sacrificed?
Or have i been a coward?
Ere shaken my mortal, chanting Rama Rama
Shall be the best resort to replace the wasted.
So Hare Rama, Hare Rama, Hare Rama!
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Trinity Of Carnatic Music 1-St.Thyagaraja
You're lost in the ism of Rama
Leaving behind a mission of Rama
Whence a practice of euphony
Across the compass of tones
Treasuring a supernal bliss long trailed
You know the heft of the bliss?
As much as that of Rama
Ethereally coloured quantum
Your-way-caressed to melt
Into our souls abundantly scaled
Your realm of scales, mode of melodies
Credence of pristine musical perseverence
Whole spirit alone with Rama
Ineffable elation of a doctrine for salvage
How am I to accost?
Guru? swamy, rishi, poet, writer, father?
You're the immortal, empyreal adept
Permeated and permeating intranssient
A cult of popularism for soul-liberation
How else be acclaimed than 'Nadabrahmam'
And 'Nadabrahmam' alone
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Vedic Conversion
The Veda is sacred; its hymens are sacred.
The Veda is holy; its hymns are holy.
We were told to toe; we were led to toe.
The nomadic tribe has brought it with them.
Buddhism was banished; Jainism vanished.
Natives were driven; Dravidians subverted.
It is the Aryans who conquered the continent.
It is the Aryans who remodelled its culture.
Success in war, stealing of cattle,
Love making, illogical rituals,
No moral codes, no benevolent deeds-
These are all the Vada speaks out
Manu codified Varnasrama Dharma.
Manu glorified kings and their style.
Manu crucified women’s interests.
Manu stupefied Sudhras and Dalits.
The Ramayana, an epic, lofted Rama
To a God Incarnation, who killed
Ravana, a Shiva devoee, thus holding
The supremacy of Aryans and Rama.
The Mahabharata tells godliness of Krishna,
Whose crafts in strategy of war
Belies his Geetha’s teachings of doing
Duties with detachment for the end.
Aryan revivalism rears its head.
They are out to eradicate gods
Other than their Rama and Krishna.
They want to make flourish
The Brahmin’s superiority and nobility
Over all indigenous Gods and culture.
11.10.2000
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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From The Banks Of Ganga: V
I open my eyes
Non-light on the Ganga
Breaking into dawn
A la Kubja stood as if waiting
For me to open my eyes
Kabhie Krishna ko dekha?
Chalo meri saath!
Like a mute animal
I follow her into a chamber
Where a marble Krishna welcomed me
How long did I sit in His presence?
Hare Rama hare rama
Rama Rama Hare hare
Hare Krishna Hare Krishna
Krishna Krishna Hare Hare
My own chanting
Reverberating in my ears
There flowed Ganga
In bright sunlight…
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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Hari Chrishna
People with light orange cloaks
comes pass in a jolly procession.
There are two hitting drums
and one sings over a loudspeaker horn
and I see a few
getting rattling noises out of cymbals
that makes the people
on the sidewalk stand still
while the small group of people
draws attention and pass.
It’s a shrill “hare krishna hare krishna
krishna krishna hare hare
hare rama hare rama
rama rama hare hare”
that goes right through you
and I wonder
what the strange words
are exactly saying
and I hear how the drums
keeps the earthly rhythm
and it’s like a street circus
that disappears in the distance
while they disappear behind buildings.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Lord Is His Devotees' Slave
Whatever is a devotee's
caste, clan, family, or name,
Rama's love for him is the same.
Beggar and king
are one to him.
Say, of what caste could be
Brahma or Shiva?
Rama will never abide
in the egotistic man's heart
therefore his slave, Suradasa,
has abandoned pride.
Rama was born in the Raghu clan
Krishna found his home in Gokula.
Words fail to tell of
the Lord's love
universal, all-embracing;
Dhruva was a Kshatriya,
Prahlada a demon and Vidura the son of a maid:
yet the Lord gave them his supreme love,
Krishna washed the devotees' feet
at the Rajasuya.
The Lord is the slave
of his devotees
age after age.
The tongue can't relate
his countless deeds.
Says Suradasa, the Puranas and Vedas
are witness to these.
poem by Sant Surdas
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Love is not rational
The loved one does not love me back;
The loving one does not get my love.
Who you love and who loves you
Aren’t one and the same person.
I’m dear to my mother and
My daughter is dear to me.
Mandothari loved Ravana
And Ravana was mad of Seeta.
The real love is neither mutual
Nor reciprocal nor conditional.
Love is not rational; but instinctual.
28.07.2009
[The characters are from the epic, Ramayana.
Mandothari was in ardent love for her husband King Ravana, who was mad of Sita, wife of Prince Rama]
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Sri Rama Jayam
Evokes chanting of my 'RamRam'
Picking up Pavalamalli flowers at 6a.m
A good day ahead
My regular counts of SriRamajayam
After a hectic kitchen record at 9.30a.m
Inking out in words in a note book
And on a day of submission...
'Before pooja almirah supporting me a mat-seater
My concentration grips Rama better
Although bossing over my anger to fade out
As the maid keeps sweeping
Dust from the broom splattering
Without a divine heart for the sacred book
I say sorry to Rama
Chuck out myself of the room
To make coffee for the lady-broom
And give up not; I further continue with Rama
Sitting in the chair in the porch in silence
A while later hubby next glances
Brunch ready?
Rush to the dining table
Hubby relishes his pappads crumble
Hmm.. I say sorry to Rama
Back to pooja almirah
Sit up to pursue Rama
But oops, a phone call
Daughter! And hubby is hysterical
Me too driven towards grand-son's prattle
Forget myself and quite unaware
But soon conscience pricks
Work be soon finished for Rama's blessing looks
Should submit it to the Lord
I say sorry to Rama
Sit back to my writing
Lunch time past; Yet mind not skipping
Write and write on
Rama must be invisibly looking at me
My hope, Anjaneya recommends me
By 4p.m complete my work
March on to the temple
Hand over my book so humble
Pray with closed eyes
Finally blessed with ' prasadh' when awake.
But lo, the wrapper to shake
A piece of Ramajayam-paper...
I look at the Lord so puzzled
But He, smiling as He ever has stood
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Joy and hatred
Hatred for Ravana
Rather than love Rama
Keep interesting Ramayana.
To indulge in sports
Is an outlet to kill one’s hatred
Joy is the counterpart of hatred
29.03.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Sandals
She wears
sandals.
Her mother
bought her
the leather
sandals
as a birthday
present;
She presents
the sandals
to the
world.
Not to
me.
I feel
like
an outstripped
sandal
when
she
takes
off
the sandals
in
my
bed.
poem by Afrodita Nikolova
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A War Between Ravna And Kauravas
Rama fought Ravna and killed him.
The good prevailed over the evil.
Thus spoke Ramayana the Epic.
Pandavas fought Kauravas and killed them.
The justice prevailed over the wrong.
Thus spoke Mahabharata the Epic.
What if Ravna and Gowrava fought?
It is happening in politics now.
04.10.2012
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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You May Have Obtained Nama
You may have obtained nama, but without Rama
Your title of Vaishnava is barren like a cradle in a childless home
Or a marriage procession without groom!
Lord resides within you, but you couldn't discern him;
You wander aimlessly thinking him to be afar;
You calculate about the One beyond the calculations;
You limit the Illimitable
And in this state of twoness, you count your futile beads!
You may have obtained nama, but without Rama
Your title of Vaishnava is barren like a cradle in a childless home
Or a marriage procession without groom!
You try to be Harijan without having Hari!
How can pangs of hunger subside by a bash of hollow words?
How can throes of separation subside by mere donning of ascetic clothes?
It is like the futile roaring of rainless clouds!
You may have obtainednama, but without Rama
Your title of Vaishnava is barren like a cradle in a childless home
Or a marriage procession without groom!
You think you have become harijan by merely singing lord's praises,
You try to rival a swan, when your deeds are those of a crow!
The lord will indeed disregard you!
You may have obtainednama, but without Rama
Your title of Vaishnava is barren like a cradle in a childless home
Or a marriage procession without groom!
Says Narsinh, only he is worth our obeisance,
Whose mind has dissolved into the formless;
In whom the delusion of the world of differences is shattered
And in whom the flame of renunciation is resplendent.
You may have obtained nama, but without Rama
Your title of Vaishnava is like a cradle in a childless home
Or a marriage procession without the groom!
poem by Narsinh Mehta
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Recital Of The Ramayana
When the silent night was ended, and their pure ablutions done,
Joyous went the minstrel brothers, and their lofty lay begun,
Rama to the hermit minstrels lent a monarch's willing car,
Blended with the simple music dulcet was the lay to hear,
And so sweet the chanted accents, Rama's inmost soul was stirred,
With his royal guests and courtiers still the deathless lay he heard!
Heralds versed in old Puranas, Brahmans skilled in pious rite,
Minstrels deep in lore of music, poets fired by heavenly might,
Watchers of the constellations, min'sters of the festive day,
Men of science and of logic, bards who sang the ancient lay,
Painters skilled and merry dancers who the festive joy prolong
Hushed and silent in their wonder listed to the wondrous song!
And as poured the flood of music through the bright and livelong day,
Eyes and ears and hearts insatiate drank the nectar of the lay,
And the eager people whispered: 'See the boys, how like our king
As two drops of limpid water from the parent bubble spring!
Were the boys no hermit-children, in the hermit's garments clad,
We would deem them Rama's image,-Rama as a youthful lad!'
Twenty cantos of the Epic thus the youthful minstrels sung,
And the voice of stringéd music through the Epic rolled along,
Out spake Rama in his wonder: 'Scarce I know who these may be,
Eighteen thousand golden pieces be the children-minstrels' fee!'
'Not so,' answered thus the children, 'we in darksome forests dwell,
Gold and silver, bounteous monarch, forest life beseem not well!'
'Noble children!' uttered Rama, 'dear to me the words you say,
Tell me who composed this Epic,-Father of this deathless Lay?'
'Saint Valmiki,' spake the minstrels, 'framed the great immortal song
Four and twenty thousand verses to this noble Lay belong,
Untold tales of deathless virtue sanctify his sacred line,
And five hundred glorious cantos in this glorious Epic shine,
In six Books of mighty splendour was the poet's task begun,
With a seventh Book, supplemental is the poet's labour done,
All thy matchless deeds, O monarch, in this Lay will brighter shine,
List to us from first to ending if thy royal heart incline!'
'Be it so,' thus Rama answered, but the hours of day were o'er,
And Valmiki's youthful pupils to their cottage came once more.
Rama with his guests and courtiers slowly left the royal hall,
Eager was his heart to listen, eager were the monarchs all,
And the voice of song and music thus was lifted day to day,
And from day to day they listened to Valmiki's deathless Lay!
Reveal nil
Rama told Krishna ill of Siva;
Krishna will tell Siva of it
When he moves away from Rama
Or when he moves close to Siva.
17.12.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Dreaming
Happened!
I swear by the chaste vast firmament
Through which pierces into the depths of azury ocean
Whizzing like an arrow the sanguine sun
The phratric first of Ikshvaku domain
Of which notable king was Lord Rama
To whom drowned gusty in devotion like Hanuman
I was taken to recite my verses
Which when opened got drowned
Into the unfathomable mercy of Lord Rama's effulgence
Which made His whole court tolerant
That ever so makes me pursue my dreaming..
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Lord Buddha the Guide
He was born in Lumbin,
Delivered his first sermon in Saranath,
And shed his body in Kushinara,
The Lord Buddha, the Light of Asia.
He is
Siddhartha, the one who accomplishes,
Tathagata, the perfect one,
Bhudhisattva, the enlightened one,
Sakhya Muni, the ascetic of Sakhya clan,
Goutama, the ascetic,
And Jina, the conqueror.
Truths are four:
The existence of sorrow;
There is cause for it;
Cessation of the cause;
The conquest.
Rules are five:
Abstinence from injury;
Abstinence from stealing;
Abstinence of wrongful indulgence;
Abstinence of falsehood;
Abstinence from intoxication.
Paths are eightfold:
Right understanding;
Right thoughts;
Right speech;
Right action;
Right living;
Right effort;
Right mindfulness;
Right contemplation
Self indulgence and
Self mortification,
Are two extreme steps;
Choose the middle path.
To eat and drink, to live
Is not evil.
To do to be merry is evil.
To nurse the health is not evil.
To do the opposite is evil.
The one who conquers the all
But not one’s self, conquers nil.
Buddha ruled ‘the Hindus’
Before Rama and Krishna ruled.
His shrines had been replaced
With the shrines of Hindus,
Which were again replaced
With the shrines of Islam.
If Buddha is to return to his place,
Rama has no place to return to.
26.05.2002, pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Mandodari's Lament And The Funerals
'Hast thou fallen,' wept in anguish Ravan's first and eldest bride,
Mandodari, slender-waisted, Queen of Lanka's state and pride,
'Hast thou fallen, king and consort, more than Gods in warlike might,
Slain by man, whom bright Immortals feared to facein dubious fight?
Not a man!-the Dark Destroyer came to thee in mortal form,
Or the heaven-traversing VISHNU, INDRA ruler of the storm,
Gods of sky in shape of Vanars helped the dark and cruel deed,
Girdling round the Discus-Wielder in the battle's direst need!
Well I knew,-when Khara, Dushan, were by Rama's prowess slain,
Rama was no earthly mortal, he who crossed the mighty main,
Well I knew,-when with his army he invested Lanka's gate,
Rama was no earthly mortal but the messenger of Fate,
And I prayed,-the faithful Sita, might unto her consort go,
For 'tis writ that nations perish for a righteous woman's woe,
But for impious lust of woman,-all forgetful of thy wife,
Thou hast lost thy crown and kingdom, thou hast lost thy fated life!
Woe to me! the sad remembrance haunts my tortured bosom still,
Of our days on famed Kailasa or on Meru's golden hill,
Done the days of joy and gladness, Mandodari's days are done,
Since her lord and king and husband from her dear embrace is gone!
Sorely wept the Queen of Lanka; Rama, tender, tearful, true,
Bade the funeral rites and honours to a fallen foeman due,
And they heaped the wood of Chandan and the fragrant garland laid,
On the pyre they lifted Ravan in the richest robes arrayed,
Weeping queens and sorrowing Rakshas round their fallen leader stood,
Brahmans with their chaunted mantras piled the dry and scented wood,
Oil and cords and sacred offerings were upon the altar laid,
And a goat of inky darkness as a sacrifice was slayed.
Piously the good Bibhishan lighted Ravan's funeral pyre,
And the zephyrs gently blowing fanned the bright and blazing fire,
Slow and sad with due abititions mourners left the funeral site,
Rama then unstrung his weapon, laid aside his arms of might.