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....

Word Landscapes

Sanjiva Dev

Hills, hills, dales, dales. Below the hills are dales and beyond the dales are hills again. With mists are covered the dales and by snows are enveloped the hill-tops. Visible through the mist-screens are the distant mountains in light grey like the shadow-forms in a dream-realm. The sun rises and the mist-screens in the dales get tinged in, pale purple.

By the stream oscillates a solitary reed plant in full blossom. Above is the cloudless autumn azure sky and below is the current of crystal-clear blue water. Blue above, blue below and in-between shines the white of the reed blossoms.

In the broken clouds at the western horizon is setting the sun. The western horizon is aglow with crimson. The tops of the trees, the roofs of the houses, the white cranes upon the tops of the trees and the white doves over the roofs of the houses have turned crimson. Black crow flew towards the west.

The midnight sky is covered with dark clouds. The glow of the stars is hidden behind the gloom of the clouds. Below rising are the waves of the muddy river. Everywhere silence and solitude; in the distance is visible a twinkling light from a sailing boat.

It is noon; the desert extends and extends, unto the edges of the horizons. The mirage is visible creating the illusion of water. The sand of the desert is radiant with golden glow. A tiny stream flows through the sand and by the stream is grown a solitary plant of grass with purple flowers over its head. A green grasshopper has perched over the flowers.

Over the spur of the hill stands a Mahayana monastery. It is moonless midnight. Butter lamps are burning with tranquil flickerings. In the glow of the tiny flickering flames the ikons of the Bodhisattva emit luminous rays. The orange robes of the old praying Lama have merged in the sheen of the lamps. An incandescent meteor traversed across the hill-top.

On the bund of a pond stands an old banyan tree. Over the roots of the tree has risen a huge ant-hill. The water in the pond is green. The steps built into the pond are dilapidated. The branches of the banyan are broken; the foliage of the branches is torn. An old lame donkey with ears erect and a face that is melancholy with an expression, burdened by layers of suffering has made its appearance beneath the tree. A golden-brown leaf from the above dropped on to the green water.

A vast river flows. A boat with a fluttering white sail is moving against the current. The eastern sky is covered by the rain-clouds. The sun emerged out of the broken clouds in the western sky. Lo, there appears on the eastern sky an unbroken rainbow effulgent with iridescence! Below in the river moves the reflexion of the rainbow. Across the rainbow’s moving reflexion is sailing the sail’s boat while the boat’s sail is moving across the rainbow in the sky.

A vast green meadow lies with old withered and twisted babul trees here and there. At the distant horizon loom the blue mountains. The grass appears to be light green where the highlights fall and dark green where the shadows crawl. From the north-west to the south-east flows a streamlet by the side of which stands a broken tree under which grew numerous wild shrubs with yellow flowers. Over the broken tree flutters a piece of cloth in crimson.

Against the sky covered with fleecy clouds rises the blue-grey smoke. The various trees in the forest yonder the smoke have lost their individual forms and colours and assumed the tone of blue-grey. A flock of sheep is proceeding to the front, teaching the smoke-screen. The sun out of the clouds peeped and lo, the wool of the sheep shone in gloden lustre.

A withered bamboo plant stands in the form of a skeleton with pointed twigs and round knots. The winter sun has not yet risen; the eastern sky is bathed in vermilion which shines luminously through the gaps of the leafless bamboo twigs. The tapering ends of the bamboo are nodding their sensitive heads.

The last rays of the setting sun have fallen over the lofty snow peaks of the Himalayas. The Himalayan peaks have transformed themselves into golden-orange flames. The sky over the peaks still shines like sapphire. In the charm of the evening glow the hues of the Himalayan peaks are undergoing many a variation; yellow, orange, vermilion, crimson, violet, blue and green are displaying their iridescent enchantment.

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