Triveni Journal
1927 | 11,233,916 words
Triveni is a journal dedicated to ancient Indian culture, history, philosophy, art, spirituality, music and all sorts of literature. Triveni was founded at Madras in 1927 and since that time various authors have donated their creativity in the form of articles, covering many aspects of public life....
Radha's Epistle
Vallathol Narayana Menon (Translated from Malayalam by K. S. Anantha Subramony)
Radha’s Epistle
BY VALLATHOL NARAYANA MENON
(Translated from Malayalam by K. S. Anantha Subramony)
Dear my lo-nay pardon my folly!
To think Dark Night could stretch her arm and touch
The Sun! To think my luckless tongue could hope
To taste the nectar of those noble words!1
I'm but a peasant girl whilst lo! thou art
Refinement’s pink in whom mingle honour
And high estate. Oh! let that goddess freely sport
In th’ Elysian garden of thy youth! For me
My father’s farm made pure by thy presence
Gives rest enow; and for my worship lo!
There still doth shine on yonder tree’s platform–
The same that many a day to me revealed
The love god’s sight–th’ imprint thy sandals made,
Blest witnesses unto thy feet so soft!
"This be the golden ball, the fairy of
Your garden playeth with," said’st thou one day
When I thee brought a lime, my humble gift,
And saying so that fruit thou didst press hard,
And smiling didst thou shoot a glance against
My trembling bosom full of trem’lous thoughts–,
Oh! let me that one glance for aye cherish
To contemplate with thrills and tears of bliss,
That glance which like an unutter’d command
Bade me hang down my head for maiden shame;
That gold key which could ope the inmost shrine;
That conch-shell which could pour out sacred love! 2
And to this garden camest thou one day
Bright as a vision of the Youthful Spring;
Unusual splendour marked thy dress; thy cheeks
Full glow lent hue unto the evening sun
And as I stood with dazzled eyes gazing
On thee–dost thou recall?–I placed upon
Thy neck a wreath of bakula blooms with both
These hands so rough and hard with bearing of
The water-pots. It was my love’s weakness.
But when thou utt’rest mirthful words of love
To that fair one who round thy neck would place
The garland of her beauteous arms, speak not
Of it to her lest it may cause a pain
Unto that noble sister’s heart.
The cool
Breeze of the evening comes; it comes panting
Eager to bear once more the sacred scent
Of that same wreath which found its utmost bliss
Embracing thee! What shall I say but this?
"Oh! breeze, my humble garland is withered
And gone; unfading is the one offered
By that goddess; go then oh! breeze, and seek
The sacred contact of that wreath ere my
Deep sighs do make thee hot and sad!"
And lo!
That same day’s star doth shine in yon same sky
And vainly waits with eager list’ning ear.
Alas! but he is no more here who made
This garden seem as Brindavan with words
Like music of the flute divine! What if?
It matters naught e’en though this garden be
Forlorn and empty quite, for lo! did not
Thy Radha’s love find fulfilment when she
Upon thy shoulders placed her life’s burthen
Together with that wreath of bakula blooms?
When thou who art my all didst hers become
A needless fear did seize my father dear.
But lord! could I my life thus yield when lo!
My bliss I find dwelling in but a nook
Of th’ world where thou livest, making it bright
With thy deserving wife? Oh! may your life
Wedded shine forth in peaceful happiness!
1
Radha, the peasant girl is jilted by a town-bred youth. She hears that he to whom she had surrendered her whole heart is married to another woman. She writes him a letter; is about to address him as ‘Dear my lord’ when she checks herself on the realization that she could not address him so, as he is married to another.2
Sacred water is kept in the hollow of the conch-shell during pujas and poured out through the tail end of the conch.