Showing posts with label Malashri Lal. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Malashri Lal. Show all posts

Book Review of Nandini Sahu’s Medusa

By Malashri Lal 

Nandini Sahu, Medusa (A Collection of Poems), Black Eagle Books:  Dublin, USA, and Bhubaneswar, India, 2025. Pages 123, Rs. 300.

The name ‘Medusa’ evokes the terrible image of a woman who has snakes for her hair and a dreaded capacity for turning her opponent into stone. The word ‘petrified’ etymologically means ‘turned to stone’, and that is precisely what Medusa does in actual and metaphorical terms in the mythological tale and its adaptations. Nandini Sahu in her collection of poems, Medusa, generates a thought-provoking alternative image, that of a woman wronged in the story from Greek mythology and who deserves a sympathetic look. Sahu recalls that Medusa was a beautiful priestess in Athena’s temple. Pursued by Poseidon, she took refuge in the temple but was sexually assaulted there. Goddess Athena, angry that her sanctuary had been desecrated, cursed Medusa into becoming the dreaded figure that we know her as—ugly and destructive. Poseidon was never punished for misusing his power. Nandini Sahu revisits the original story and unravels the suppressions imposed on Medusa:  her unspoken desires, choices, identity and freedom. This trope of the violated woman is not unknown in the narratives repeated over generations and Nandini Sahu, an eminent scholar of Comparative Literature brings her knowledge to bear upon the forgotten histories of the women who were silenced. Examples I can cite would be Philomela whose tongue was cut off so she could never reveal details of her rape. There is also Ahalya who is tricked by Indra who appeared in the guise of Ahalya’s husband and seduced her. The woman is the victim, yet she is punished, not the man. Why should there be such injustice, and that too perpetuated over time?

In this context, Nandini Sahu’s Medusa is a path breaking collection because she uses the idea of Medusa, and not necessarily the details of the story, to assert that women cherish their dreams and aspirations, but are caught in the bind of patriarchal power structures and often exploited by men. Many forego all thoughts of fulfilling their goals. Coming to the poems themselves, I am particularly struck by the confident feminine voice that articulates its needs, fearlessly, and claims its independence. Comparative Studies would be encouraged by such a book as Medusa from Greek legends metamorphoses into contemporary figures in India and elsewhere.  Examples of specific poems may be cited. ‘An Ode to Every Woman’ has the lines ‘She bends to none, she is indomitable/ that is the paradox of strength in her soft hands’ (26). In ‘Mago’ the poet admits ‘My worst battle is between/ what I know, and what I feel’ (54). Another poem has the lines ‘Synaesthesia, the neutral condition/ causes me a consolidation of the senses’ (101). These quotations have in common the self-questioning of an intellectual woman who has understood the social constructions and is discovering her strategies for overcoming the obstacles.  This, to my mind, is a universal paradigm, and therefore, even when Nandini Sahu uses specifically Indian material, the stories serve as emblems of the suppression imposed on women, and the legacy of such silencing that continues even today.

Embedded within the book’s theme of woman’s objectification is the long poem titled ‘Dushyant and Shakuntala’. It takes us through the story that is well known of a secret marriage, a token of remembrance, the forgetfulness, the final discovery of the truth and the union of lovers. The poem, however, questions the values attached to the court and the pastoral village. Shakuntala muses in the final section about the relative merits in words such as these:

For love in a forest is root and thorn,
bound to earth, yet free, forlorn.
But love in a palace is chiselled stone,
a thing of the heart yet carved alone. (79)

Sahu tends to focus on the interiority of the woman’s mind, thereby broadening the horizons of traditional narratives. For example, she uses generic subheadings in the Dushyant-Shakuntala poem such as the ‘Recognition and Reunion’, and ‘A Woman in Waiting’. The reader understands the nucleus of the story in a modern context of abandonment, helplessness, dislocation—these are today’s experiences though far from the ashram environment of the original tale.

Turning to regional folklore is the story of Tapoi from Odissa sources (89) It recounts how a woman prayed to Goddess Mangala to get her brothers back, and she finally triumphs as a figure of celebration. Tracking mainstream myths, the poem ‘Manthan’ revisits the famous churning of the ocean as the gods and Demons fight over Amrit or the elixir of life. But the modern message is more personal and positive as the woman discovers for herself that Manthan also throws up love which is ‘ember’ and ‘granite’ but also ‘a prayer from the heart’ (21). The diversity in the volume, and the intertextual connections with global literature in Medusa builds a rich archive echoing material from the English syllabus that many of us have studied. Yet Sahu’s post-modernist twist excites a contemporary energy that is feminist without being hostile.

I end my review with the author’s Preface which forcefully states her idea of Medusa, ‘She is the regular, here and now, normal woman with all the strengths and weaknesses in her multi layered, multifaceted character, like us modern, post- modern and post- post- modern women, hence this title of my book; (11). Appropriately, the opening poem begins with the words ‘I am Medusa, I merge with you’.  Later follow my favourite lines,

Medusa is nonjudgemental, audacious,
beautiful flexible, yet unyielding.
Medusa is some myth and yet she is the ultimate truth.
Medusa is many lives in one life (18).

In other words, there is a Medusa lurking in each woman who has tried to protect herself against the forces of oppression. She has been assaulted and punished and reviled. It takes a scholar of Nandini Sahu’s stature to revisit such a figure and restore to her the dignity that is due and to also pull her into our contemporary discourse, so that women under threat are inspired to express their rebellion and seek the collaboration of sisterhood. The book finally leaves a message of courage and self-growth for today’s women, not just in India or in Greece, but women as a whole as a gendered ‘second sex’.

***

Bio: Malashri Lal, with twenty-four books, retired as Professor, English Department, University of Delhi. Publications include Tagore and the Feminine, and The Law of the Threshold. Co-edited with Namita Gokhale is the ‘goddess trilogy’ and also Betrayed by Hope: A Play on the Life of Michael Madhusudan Dutt which received the Kalinga Fiction Award.  Lal’s poems Mandalas of Time received global acclaim. Honours include the prestigious ‘Maharani Gayatri Devi Award for Women’s Excellence’ and the international SETU award of Excellence.


Relentless Regeneration: Poetry of Power and Reflection

Book Review by Vinita Dhondiyal Bhatnagar

Silver Years, Senior Contemporary Indian Women’s Poetry, eds. Sanjukta Dasgupta, Malashri Lal, Anita Nahal. New Delhi: Sahitya Akademi, 2025. ₹ 330. Pages 230. 

I start this review with a full disclosure. As generation next to this exciting range of women poets, awed and intimidated by their courage and their brilliance, I write as a younger sister, listening for the notes that make their poetry sing. What I hear is not just music, but memory, resistance, tenderness, and above all, survival.

Perhaps it’s the fact that they have lived their lives as “trapeze artists” balancing professional careers as academicians, journalists, bureaucrats, art designers, social workers with the traditional roles as nurturers and caregivers. Fifty senior contemporary Indian poets, residing in India and abroad, have come together to create this exceptional collection of one hundred and seventy two poems published recently by the Sahitya Akademi.

“We are the Kali women” declares Anita Nahal in one of the opening poems.
“We don’t distinguish. We seek. We learn. Comprehend. Embrace” In a mood which is resolute, resolute and triumphant this new generation of “aging” women stride to the forefront and “strut” their stuff. And girl!is it impressive!

In their introduction to the collection the editors, Sanjukta Dasgupta, Malashri Lal and Anita Nahal, point to the ways in which the women poets express, interrogate and deconstruct the double bind with power. Many of the poems included in this collection redefine and radicalize the notions of power and agency. Snigdha Agarwal’s “Gender Bias” captures the ambition and defiance of an entire generation and the hidden hostility they encountered.

“They watch her with eyes

Trained in ancient codes

Judgement curled like a fist in their minds.”

The woman’s confidence is dismissed as performance, her success as a fortunate accident, and the world waits for her to stumble and to fall. Yet out of this brave vulnerable courage to keep going women have written their own stories and destinies.

Pramila Venkateswaran’s “The Grammar of Control” points at the anomaly of power:

“Today’s right taken away at whim

By  graying supremes on ‘order’s’ side.”

Institutional and state power has been concentrated in the hands of older males in most parts of the world and through most of history. Their gaze is on women whom they police and school relentlessly. In response to this enforcement of order, older women are offering up resistance and a more collaborative, co dependent version of power. As Neera Kashyap writes:

“One speaks up….even if the voice squeaks like a rabbit’s or

Is pitched high like a witch’s”

One seeks solidarity with other women. Ranu Uniyal writes:

“A healthy camaraderie

Between us flits and warms

Me inside out.”

The mirror emerges as a trope in many poems in the collection. Chanchal Sarin’s “Many years ago”plays with the image of seeing the mother’s reflection in the mirror. Radha Chakravarty writes:

“The mirror shows a stranger.

With a penetrating gaze”

In the mirror she catches a glimpse of her other selves and other lives. Satinder Kaur calls the mirror her partner in love and secrecy, her confidant, therapist and advisor.

Portraits and paintings recur too as visual symbols of the journey that women’s lives have undertaken. Jayshree Misra Tripathi writes of charcoal sketches of adulthood. Rita Malhotra’s  “On Canvas” celebrates the image of a black canvas splashed with light.

Music plays as sitar accompaniment to the words in “The Body Has Its Own Memory”, as sonnets, odes, Farida Khanum’s throaty ghazal, or as RagaBheempalasi. Perhaps the most touching, evocative and urgent rendition of this is in Malashri Lal’s “Krishna’s Flute”. The poem is set in the context of the pandemic raging through the world. The invisible enemy brings fever and delusion, breathlessness and death. In the midst of this ominous silence, Krishna’s flute brings hope and sweet succor. The conversation between the flute and the Pilkhan tree is a tender touch and the flute’s assertion that it belongs to Radha as much as to Krishna evokes layers of meanings and mythological associations that exemplifies poetry at its best. The poem is dedicated to Pandit Hari Prasad Chaurasia and soaked in love, longing, hope and redemption.

Mothers, fathers, ex lovers flit through the pages of this outstanding collection. Wisdom is offered as deep reflective insights. Anamika’s “Knowing” reprises the mirror image: “Knowing someone is like buying another mirror for yourself”. It evokes the sound of the sad laughter of old prostitutes, the pain of separation of Bhatkoinya berries from ancestral fields, the chains of prisoners, the strains of Raga Jaijavanti on the ektara. Knowing someone is a passionate plunge first outside and then inside yourself.

The poems range over vast geographical spaces, including floating islands, fields, deserts, the roads of Lhasa, Arlington, Jaipur, Kolkata, Chandipur, Iran, Colorado. Distant rivers snowy hills, deep, dark woods are all part of the wild natural spaces that our imagination visits while reading these poems.

The poets are unrelenting in their ability to look at age and aging without needless romanticizing. Even that great taboo subject- death –is looked squarely in the face as in Sanjukta Dasgupta’s poems which display an acceptance and a befriending of the loving embrace, the gentle maternal arms that await us all and promise everlasting rest.

This volume is breathtaking in its range and its ambition. It reminds us that age is not to be feared but to be celebrated. The lived histories of our lives can become poetry and that poetry can both heal and transform- this is the final message of Silver Years.
***

Prof. Vinita Dhondiyal Bhatnagar teaches a RGPV, University of Bhopal. Her novel Zaira has been widely acclaimed. With over thirty years’ experience of teaching and research in the fields of Literature and Culture, Vinita is committed to exploring the depths and preciousness of the human experience through the pages of a book or the spell binding delivery of an oral tale. 


Malashri Lal

Malashri Lal
Malashri Lal, writer and academic, with twenty four books, retired as Professor, English Department, University of Delhi. Publications include Tagore and the Feminine, and The Law of the Threshold: Women Writers in Indian English. Co-edited with Namita Gokhale is the ‘goddess trilogy’, and also Betrayed by Hope: A Play on the Life of Michael Madhusudan Dutt which received the Kalinga Fiction Award. Lal’s poems Mandalas of Time has recently been translated into Hindi as Mandal Dhwani. She is currently Convener, English Advisory Board of the Sahitya Akademi. Honours include the prestigious ‘Maharani Gayatri Devi Award for Women’s Excellence’.

THREE INDIAN SEASONS: Malashri Lal

Malashri Lal

Sarat Amidst Terror

 

Srinagar’s apple trees bow to the visitors

their plump pink cheeks

smiling of a bumper harvest.

 

A mile away the military convoy

is attacked by masked men

disdainful of human life

or apples

or the bereaved families of the

innocent personnel randomly killed

The tourist crouched behind her

window curtain

and saw middle-aged mothers

picking up the fallen, bruised apples

a feast for their hungry fatherless children.

***



Hemant Ritu by the Sea-Rocks

 

In Vivekananda’s shadow

he followed the mottled steps towards

global amity and spiritual awakening.

The path led to the footprints on the forlorn rocks off Kanyakumari

Myths merged of the virgin goddess

and the prayerful saint.

His vision of universal understanding

presaged in this Hemanta ritu

the hope of peace and empathy.


Yet the borders divide people

bloodied by swords and guns.

The victor and the victim

are indistinguishable

in the curse of warfare.

 

Sea breezes caress the merging waters.

In meditation, he reads Vivekananda

and seeks desperately the meaning of forgiveness.

***

 

Birds of Paradise in Winter- Sheeth

 

In the park’s messy corner in the sheeth of winter days

these wonderous flowers thrust their heads through the thorny spikes

red and yellow beaks, a dappled plumage. 

Birds of Paradise that can never fly

a mimicry of form

by the Great Trickster

 

These ‘birds’ will push their colours though the dark bush,

and then crumble into mud.

Paradise is a cheat

birds, a misnomer

Language, only a blister.

Malashri Lal (Diaspora Dual Identities)

Malashri Lal

Home Is A Canvas Bag

 

Memories are stuffed into this frayed bag and

I’ve run out of space.

One pocket carries dried stalks of wheat from the field my father sold

that I could travel abroad.

I had promised to earn dollars and buy those lands back

but never seemed to have any spare money to send home.

Another flap, tucked deep within, has remnants of sacred cloth from the family shrine.

My mother had extracted a promise that I will bow before it every day,

I couldn’t, fearing the derision of roommates.

One photo frame atop the memorabilia has fading portraits of pyo amd maa;

I surreptitiously touch it morning and night

Honouring my home in a canvas bag

 

 

Migrant Birds

 

December, and the Siberian Cranes flock to Bharatpur

And tourists train their binoculars in ecstasy.

 

December, and the diaspora Indians flock to the metropolis

And the souvenir shops pitch their sales talk in hyperboles.

 

December and itinerant adults lug suitcases to their childhood homes

Annual rituals of “checking in” on ageing parents with stacks of medicines

 

December and its festival time for the pretence of togetherness

Burying loneliness, emotions, sorrow, in the gaps of formulaic utterances.

 

 

In Transit

 

In my widowhood my son offered me love and compassion, but in the US.

Weakened by the trauma of a death unforeseen, I let him lead the way.

My home of sixty decades of spousal life was easily sold

A lifetime of memories packed into six large suitcases

My friends treated to a luxurious farewell party.

“How lucky” they said in unison, “Such devotion and care”.

Fourteen hours I wept during the flight leaving my homeland,

The loving, crazy, crowded city that was my outer skin.

 

America’s manicured streets and gardens were soothing to my eyes

But my soul was starved for company,

seeking some neighbour who would bask in the sun with me,

gossip across the fence, compare grocery prices, exchange home cooked food.

 

Six months, and I had retreated into a silent shell

Like a shrivelled pearl which didn’t want to leave its darkness.

My son said he knew what I needed,

One day he drove me far into the suburbs to a landscaped estate with many old people.

He left me in a hotel-like room saying, “Ma, you’ll be happy here with so many like you.”

I waved good bye to a parting figure that I never saw again.

 

 

Malashri Lal, writer and academic, with twenty four books, retired as Professor, English Department, University of Delhi. Publications include Tagore and the Feminine, and The Law of the Threshold: Women Writers in Indian English. Co-edited with Namita Gokhale is the ‘goddess trilogy’, and also Betrayed by Hope: A Play on the Life of Michael Madhusudan Dutt which received the Kalinga Fiction Award. Lal’s poems Mandalas of Time has recently been translated into Hindi as Mandal Dhwani. She is currently Convener, English Advisory Board of the Sahitya Akademi. Honours include the prestigious ‘Maharani Gayatri Devi Award for Women’s Excellence’.

Special Edition: Malashri Lal

Malashri Lal

Unveiling Meaning: Avian Secrets


Robert Maddox-Harle’s photograph linked up with my recent visit to a site of avian secrets in Rajasthan. Water, birds crouching over wooden railings, hills silhouetted in the distance, a Warning sign which is meant for the human visitors who are absent from the photo frame. Is this a trick of time and geography, or a reminder that our shared home is planet earth no matter which speck of soil we occupy.

From the edge of the Keoladeo National Park, Bharatpur, Rajasthan, I watch a tree that has more birds than leaves, and garlands of nests pendent from it’s stark branches. These are occupied mainly by young storks whose parents have flown away to forage for food the babes like. This surrealistic tree casts its reflection on the still waters beneath which occasionally bubble over with fish, the favoured cuisine of many young and old birds. Beaks dip, fins fly, and someone gets a meal. It’s cycle of survival and interdependency.

Such biodiversity is everywhere in the 29 sq. km. park, today housing over 400 avian species including migratory birds such as the Siberian crane stopping for a winter vacation. Local migrants nest and feed alongside them. Herons of many hue, coots, knob-billed ducks, painted storks, sarus, the great egrets and the snake billed birds are easily seen in the vast wetlands.

Avian secrets unfold before my eyes as I pass from the dry shrub area with giant anthills, to the haven of the wetlands. Earth mounds covered with white egrets appear like ‘bird islands’. Overhead, the kites circle like drones surveying the field. My journey through the sanctuary ends at the gemlike, Keoladeo temple with its three hundred and fifty years old Shivling that has silently witnessed many changes.


Today’s tranquil park has a violent history. It was developed as a duck shooting reserve in 1899. The royal family hosted bird shooting as recreation for visiting dignitaries. This included H.E. The Viceroy of India Lord Curzon on 14 December 1901 whose party bagged 2049 units using 46 guns. Cruel destruction by any standards, the carnage of birds carried on even in India’s post- independence era, for example on 16 February 1958 when the King of Afghanistan bagged 600 units with 77 guns. These figures, along with many more, are etched on large tablets near the temple— lest we forget our ruthless acts against birds.

Cutting to the present— sanity and remorse may have played a role in designating this unique geographical feature  as a protected sanctuary in 1971 and it being established as the Keoladeo National Park on 10 March 1982. Since 1985, this is a UNESCO World Heritage site.

What meanings can I take away from this encounter with the past and present of an avian paradise? “Life is as dear to a mute creature as it is to a man,” said the Dalai Lama. The air is filled with bird language, poetry and song that my limited human capability cannot decipher. But I stand humbled by this reminder of ecology’s fragile balance and hope we can coexist with grace. I look once more at the mesmerizing photograph by Maddox-Harle and thank him for transporting me away from the city in my imagination and in actuality. The history of Keoladev grants meaning to the permanence of nature as opposed to the ephemerality of  human ego. The photo image reinforces the “Warning” that unless we hold back on rapacity, there will be no human being to read that message.
***

Bionote:  Malashri Lal, writer and academic, with twenty four books, retired as Professor, English Department, University of Delhi. Publications include Tagore and the Feminine, and The Law of the Threshold: Women Writers in Indian English. Co-edited with Namita Gokhale is the ‘goddess trilogy’, and also Betrayed by Hope: A Play on the Life of Michael Madhusudan Dutt  which received the Kalinga Fiction Award.  Lal’s poems Mandalas of Time has recently been translated into Hindi as Mandal Dhwani. She is   currently Convener, English Advisory Board of the Sahitya Akademi. Honours include the prestigious ‘Maharani Gayatri Devi Award for Women’s Excellence’


Betrayed by Hope by Namita Gokhale & Malashri Lal

A Review of Betrayed by Hope

Authors: Namita Gokhale & Malashri Lal

ISBN:  978-93-6313-350-2
Edition: (2024)
Price: ₹ 299.00
Published by Harper Collins Publishers India

Reviewed by: Sutanuka Ghosh Roy

 

Sutanuka Ghosh Roy

       ‘I am thinking of blazing out in prose to reduce to cinders the impudent pretensions of the “mob of Gentlemen” who pass for great authors! Great authors! You may take my word for it…that I shall come out like a tremendous comet’ writes the maverick Michael Madhusudan Dutt in a letter to Raj Narain Basu, 1861. Michael Madhusudan Dutta (1824-1873) is a revered name in Bengali Literature. To gauge his excellence is a gruelling task. It is he who changed the 19th-century literary sky of Bengali literature with grace and ├йlan. He began writing English poetry at the age of seventeen and started sending his works to publications in England, including Blackwood's Magazine and Bentley's Miscellany. However, his desire to go to England and make a name in English literature became largely unfulfilled. “Betrayed by Hope is a play-script based on the letters Michael Madhusudan Dutt wrote to friends, well-wishers, and patrons, paints the portrait of an artist as he plunges headlong into crisis after crisis, even as his imagination and creativity soar. Namita Gokhale and Malashri Lal pay tribute to his extraordinary life in a story that will lay bare our deep-set contradictions about art and life”.

       The volume offers a refreshing perspective on a meteoric talent who filled the literary sky of 19th-century colonial Bengal with new light. The play script has a taut structure and is divided neatly into five acts. Betrayed by Hope reveals two truths—one, that Michael Madhusudan Dutt continues to remain arguably one of the best authors, and classics/ classical texts/subjects are still subjected to serious scholarly interpretive experiments. Gokhale and Lal turn to the timeless maverick to search in theatre/play for a stirring expression of the massive surge of raw angst in Bengali literature of 19th-century bringing into sharp focus the cavernous rift that had emerged between the elusive hope and its betrayal resulting in the constant struggle in the life of a meteoric talent. In addition, the authors have introduced an interesting character Sutradhar Rubina Rahman ‘a self-proclaimed lazy researcher stuck in a stuffy Department of Humanities at a private university in Dhaka’ ‘looking for an easy subject for a PhD’ ‘and thought’ ‘that an Anglophile who loved England would suit’ her ‘studies well’. As in Sanskrit drama, Rubina is the narrator and the stage manager the "thread-holder" of the play-script. While concentrating on the literary works of Madhusudan the Sutradhar is also ‘curious about the writer’s hidden self’.

      The authors’ mastery of scenography is extraordinarily evident in the lighting scheme-- criss-crossing light is made to slant at the characters of the Sutradhar and Madhusudan underlying the clash of conflicting ideologies. Sutradhar cries out “Sir, Byron! Why Byron? Why don’t you consider your Bengali legacy? It’s utterly frustrating! The Young Bengal Movement had you in thrall even though its founder Henry Derozio wasn’t there when you enrolled at Hindu College. Social reform, protest—these things were in the air but you turned a blind eye. You turned to the Romantic poets in distant England. Why? What were you trying to escape?” As Sutradhar and MMD as she calls him debate their perspectives, the stage setting allows them the necessary space and the authors help the readers/audiences visually map the crests and troughs of the argument between them. Almost like the readers’ response to the text/author, the duo’s engagement in a battle of ideas is crafted by Gokhale and Lal in the manner of a waltz piece. Not only did the authors capture the talent of the maverick through a careful selection of letters but they have resurrected the crucial role of simple chador-clad Ishwar Chandra Vidyasagar in Madhusudan’s life. The Sutradhar has effectively woven the thread joining the letters (Madhusudan wrote to his friends, well-wishers, and patrons) with her narrative highlighting important links in Madhusudan’s literary journey. R. C. Majumdar acknowledged Dutt as ‘the first genius who infused a new life into Bengali dramatic literature’.

    Madhusudan had reshaped and resurrected old Sanskritized Bengali literature by infusing a new variety of heroic poetry following the footsteps of Homer and Dante but Indian at the core in Meghnadbad Kabya (1861) or The Slaying of Meghnad. “He composed sonnets in an Indian language for the first time, and then went on to confidently compose in ‘blank verse’ writes Jawhar Sircar in the afterword of the volume. Betrayed by Hope chronicles the time the dogmatism of the caste/class-ridden Colonial Bengal and traverses the spaces that help contemporary readers understand the maverick in a better way. The play script has been consciously used for asserting identity, fostering academic discussion, and giving rise to a new direction in scholarly engagement.

***

 

BIO: Dr. Sutanuka Ghosh Roy is an Associate Professor in the Department of English at Tarakeswar Degree College, The University of Burdwan, India. She is a reviewer, a critic, and a poet. The titles of her books are Critical Inquiry: Text, Context, and Perspectives and Commentaries: Elucidating Poetry, Rassundari Dasi’s Amar Jiban: A Comprehensive Study, Asprishya (The Untouchables, a novel by Sharan Kumar Limbale translated into Bengali). Opera is her debutant collection of poetry.

Irrfan Khan remembers Rajasthan

Malashri Lal

The legendary actor Irrfaan Khan was born on January 7, 1967 and died on April 29, 2020. Jaipur now holds a theatre festival in his name every January. With the passage of time, the legend acquires heroic proportions, and Irrfaan the candid speaker, the marvellous recontour and the unpretentious son of Rajasthan may be forgotten. I write this memoir of my encounter with the actor at the Jaipur Literature Festival (JLF) in 2014, to recall aspects of his personality and his charm that stay indelible in my mind.

Jaipur is my home-ground, or my ‘soul-ground’, I should say, as I live in New Delhi and taught at the University of Delhi for about forty-five years. As JLF comes by every year, I am happily swimming into the various array of sessions organised immaculately by Namita Gokhale, William Dalrymple and Sanjoy Roy. That year, 2014, I was given the responsibility of moderating a session on Vijay Dan Detha, the Rajasthani folklorist who had compiled fourteen volumes of local tales under the title Batan ri Phulwari (a garden of words). Detha, better known as ‘Bijji’ among his admirers, had passed away a year earlier and this session was planned as a tribute to his extraordinary service to oral traditions. JLF had invited a panel comprising of Irrfan Khan, C P Deval, Mahmood Farooqui, Arjun Deo Charan, and Prahlad Shekhawat.

JLF panel with Irrfan Khan (January, 2014)
On this cool afternoon, the crowd awaited the arrival of the glamorous film star Irrfan. He showed up a trifle late, just after the others were seated, a perfect entrance with his characteristic stride and his dark glasses. While a thunderous applause greeted him, he sat modestly on the empty chair at edge of the stage and demurred about being the first speaker. Irrfaan Khan was here as a “Jaipur boy” if one may put it that way, for he was born in the Subhash Chowk area, studied at Saint Paul’s School and Rajasthan College, and then left for a course in acting at the National School of Drama, New Delhi. This visit to Jaipur was a recap of his closeness to Bijji’s work-- after all Irrfan’s mother was from Jodhpur and he knew the ethos closely. It was also time to express his attraction for storytelling in the folk medium in Rajasthani and Hindi, and to speak of the link between literature and cinema.

Irrfan Khan reading
Irrfan looked dreamily into the past, to a shooting schedule in Jodhpur and his sudden wish to meet Bijji in Borunda village. During the journey he watched the undulating landscape with that tall tree and that deep well where ghosts and mysteries may lurk as in the folktales. On meeting Bijji, Irrfan wondered about the trauma this writer would have suffered as a child of four seeing his father dead in a brutal feud, but that moment having passed, Irrfan spoke of being impressed by Bijji’s “abhivyakti” (determined expression) that he chose to write in Rajasthani at a time when there were neither publishers nor readers. And the “lok katha” or folk idiom is forever young and old said Irrfan lyrically, “old like seed, new like fruit; old like sunset, new like sunrise.” It seemed to me that the poetry inherent in the creative mind of this fine actor was pouring through the language he was using when praising the art of traditional storytelling, a meandering narrative filled with life wisdom.

What philosophy did Irrfan learn from Bijji, I asked, and again, with a straightforwardness that was the actor’s hallmark the reply came “Kudrat ki kadar jo samajhta hai (one who understands the true value of Nature). By way of illustration Irrfan read a snippet from a folk tale, a conversation between a goatherd and a king; one knows the freedom of the birds and the sky, the other knows only a gilded confinement.

All of us were aware of the adaptations of Bijji’s tales into Bombay cinema: Mani Kaul's Duvidha, Habib Tanvir and Shyam Benegal's Charandas Chor, Amol Palekar's Paheli, among others. Irrfan Khan had no hesitation in saying that film producers needed Bijji more than he needed them. “Bijji paraspathar ban gaye thei” (Bijji had become a touchstone that transformed the substance). Did the film industry promote social good asked someone in the

audience and promptly came Irrfan’s honest answer that commercial goals have to be met in Bollywood; the “combination of Saraswati and Lakshmi” would be ideal but one can just wish for that.

On Irrfan Khan’s birth anniversary, my reminiscence is a reminder that fame need not obliterate the link with the maati/soil of one’s ancestral culture. The sands of Rajasthan stood alongside the arc lights of Bollywood—no contrast, no comparison. The crowd had expected glamour—and what was delivered by Irrfan was the truth that eternity resides in those timeless tales of the spirit world in which cinema as well as folktales offer their own kind of interpretation. Though Bijji and Irrfan Khan are no longer with us, their work and their words continue to inspire.

***

Bio: Malashri Lal, author of 22 books including academic and creative writing, anthologies and edited volumes, retired as Professor in the Department of English, University of Delhi.


рдкुрд╕्рддрдХ рд╕рдоीрдХ्рд╖ा: рдоंрдбрд▓ рдз्рд╡рдиि (рдХाрд╡्рдп рд╕ंрдЧ्рд░рд╣)

рд╕рдоीрдХ्рд╖рдХ: рджीрдкрдХ рд╢рд░्рдоा


рдХृрддि: рдоंрдбрд▓ рдз्рд╡рдиि (рдХाрд╡्рдп рд╕ंрдЧ्рд░рд╣)
(рдоाрд▓ाрд╢्рд░ी рд▓ाрд▓ рдХी рдЕंрдЧ्рд░ेрдЬ़ी рдкुрд╕्рддрдХ рдоंрдбрд▓ाрдЬ़ рдСрдл़ рдЯाрдЗрдо рдХी рдХрд╡िрддाрдУं рдХे рдЕрдиुрд╡ाрдж)
рдЕрдиुрд╡ाрдж рд╕ंрдкाрджрди: рдЕрд▓рдХा рдд्рдпाрдЧी
рдоूрд▓ рд▓ेрдЦिрдХा: рдоाрд▓ाрд╢्рд░ी рд▓ाрд▓
рдк्рд░рдХाрд╢рдХ: рд╡िрди्рдпाрд╕ рдЗрдо्рдкैрдХ्рдЯ
рдоूрд▓्рдп: ₹ 300 рд░ुрдкрдП 


 рд╡рд░्рд╖ 2024 рдХे рд╕ेрддु рд╕ृрдЬрди рд╕рдо्рдоाрди (рд╕ेрддु рд▓िрдЯрд░рд░ी рдПрдХ्рд╕ीрд▓ेंрд╕ рдЕрд╡ाрд░्рдб) рд╕े, рдЗрдеौрд╕ рд▓िрдЯрд░рд░ी рдЕрд╡ाрд░्рдб 2022 рд╕े, рдорд╣ाрд░ाрдиी рдЧाрдпрдд्рд░ी рджेрд╡ी рдЕрд╡ाрд░्рдб рдл़ौрд░ рд╡िрдоेрди्рдЬ़ рдПрдХ्рд╕ीрд▓ेंрд╕ 2022 рд╕े рддрдеा рдХрд▓िंрдЧ рдЕрд╡ाрд░्рдб рдл़ौрд░ рдл़िрдХ्рд╢рди 2020-2021 рд╕े рд╡िрднूрд╖िрдд рддрдеा рд╕рд░ोрдЬिрдиी рдиाрдпрдбू рдПрд╡ाрд░्рдб рдл़ौрд░ рдкोрдПрдЯ्рд░ी рдХे рд▓िрдП рд╣ाрд▓ рд╣ी рдЬाрд░ी рдХी рдЧрдИ рдк्рд░рд╕्рддाрд╡िрдд рд▓ंрдмी рд╕ूрдЪी рдоें рдк्рд░рдердо рд╕्рдеाрди рдкрд░ рд░рдЦे рдЧрдП рдоाрд▓ाрд╢्рд░ी рд▓ाрд▓ рдХे рдХрд╡िрддा- рд╕ंрдЧ्рд░рд╣ ‘рдоंрдбрд▓ाрдЬ़ рдСрдл़ рдЯाрдЗрдо’ рдХी рдХрд╡िрддाрдУं рдХे рдЕрдиुрд╡ाрдж ‘рдоंрдбрд▓ рдз्рд╡рдиि’ рдиाрдо рд╕े рд╡िрди्рдпाрд╕ рдк्рд░рдХाрд╢рди рд╡िрднाрдЧ рдж्рд╡ाрд░ा рдЙрдкрд▓рдм्рдз рдХिрдП рдЧрдП рд╣ैं।

рджीрдкрдХ рд╢рд░्рдоा
рд╡рд░्рддрдоाрди рдоें рд╕ाрд╣िрдд्рдп рдЕрдХाрджрдоी рдХे рдЕंрдЧ्рд░ेрдЬ़ी рд╕рд▓ाрд╣рдХाрд░ рдмोрд░्рдб рдХी рд╕ंрдпोрдЬрдХ,рдоाрд▓ाрд╢्рд░ी рд▓ाрд▓,рдХे рдиाрдо рдЗрдХ्рдХीрд╕ рдкुрд╕्рддрдХें рд╣ैं рдЬिрди рдоें рдирдоिрддा рдЧोрдЦрд▓े рдХे рд╕ाрде рд╕рд╣- рд▓िрдЦिрдд рдЙрди рдХे рдиाрдЯрдХ, ‘рдмिрдЯрд░ेрдб рдмाрдП рд╣ोрдк: рдПрдХ рдк्рд▓े рдСрди рдж рд▓ाрдЗрдл़ рдСрдл рдоाрдЗрдХрд▓ рдордзुрд╕ूрджрди рджрдд्рдд’ (2020) рдХो рдХрд▓िंрдЧ рдлिрдХ्рд╢рди рдЕрд╡ाрд░्рдб рдоिрд▓ рдЪुрдХा рд╣ै। рд╡िрд╢्рд╡рд╡्рдпाрдкрдХ рд╡िрд╖рдпों рддрдеा рдкौрд░ाрдгिрдХ рдХрдеाрдУं рдХे рд╕ाрде рдЙрдирдХा рдЬुрдб़ाрд╡ рдФрд░ рдЕрдз्рдпрдпрди рдЙрди рдХी рдкुрд╕्рддрдХों рдоें рд╕рджैрд╡ рдЧрд╣рд░ा рд░рд╣ा рд╣ै рдФрд░ ‘рдоंрдбрд▓ाрдЬ़ рдСрдл़ рдЯाрдЗрдо ’ рдЗрд╕ рдХा рддाрдЬ़ा рдЙрджाрд╣рд░рдг рд╣ै।

 рдЗрд╕ рдкुрд╕्рддрдХ рдХे рд╢ीрд░्рд╖рдХ рдоें ‘рдоंрдбрд▓’ рд╢рдм्рдж рдХा рдк्рд░рдпोрдЧ рд╣ी рдЗрд╕ рдмाрдд рдХा рд╕ूрдЪрдХ рд╣ै рдХि рдоाрд▓ाрд╢्рд░ी рд▓ाрд▓ рдХे рдХाрд╡्рдп-рд╕ंрд╕ाрд░ рдоें рдЙрди рдХा рджृрд╢्рдп рдмोрдз рдЖрдз्рдпाрдд्рдоिрдХ, рднौрдЧोрд▓िрдХ рддрдеा рдд्рд░ैрд▓ोрдХ्рдп- рднू:,рднुрд╡: рдФрд░ рд╕्рд╡: - рдХे рдкрд░िрдк्рд░ेрдХ्рд╖्рдп рдоें рд╕ंрджрд░्рднिрдд рд░рд╣ेрдЧा।

рдоाрд▓ाрд╢्рд░ी рд▓ाрд▓
рдЬिрд╕े рд╡рд╣ рдЕрдкрдиी рдЗрди рдХрд╡िрддाрдУं рдХे рдоाрдз्рдпрдо рд╕े рдкрд░िрднाрд╖िрдд рдХрд░ेंрдЧी। рдЬिрди рдоें рдкौрд░ाрдгिрдХ рд╡ рджंрддрдХрдеाрдУं рдХे рд╕ाрде-рд╕ाрде рд░ाрдоाрдпрдг рддрдеा рдорд╣ाрднाрд░рдд рдХी рд╡्рдпाрдЦ्рдпाрдУं рдФрд░ рдЙрди рдХे рд╡िрднिрди्рди рдкाрдд्рд░ों рдХा рдЕрд╡рд▓ोрдХрди рдХрд░ेंрдЧी। рдк्рд░ाрдХृрддिрдХ рдЫрдЯाрдУं, рдлूрд▓ों- рдкौрдзों рд╡ рдирджिрдпों рдХे рдЕрддिрд░िрдХ्рдд рд╕ाрдоाрдЬिрдХ рд╡ рдЖрдд्рдоीрдп рдк्рд░рд╕ंрдЧों рдХो рднी рд╕ाрдордиे рд▓ाрдПंрдЧी। рдЕрдкрдиी рд╡िрд╢िрд╖्рдЯ, рд╡िрднिрди्рди рдкрд╣рдЪाрди рд╕े। рдХрд▓्рдкрдиा-рдзाрд░рдХ рдЕрдкрдиी рд╕ृрдЬрди рд╢рдХ्рддि рд╕े। рд╡िрдЪाрд░ рд╕рдо्рдкрджा рд╕े рд╕рдо्рдкрди्рди, рд▓рдХ्рд╖рдгाрд▓ंрдХाрд░िрдХ рд╡ рдз्рд╡рди्рдпाрдд्рдордХ рд▓рдШु рдЪिрдд्рд░ों рдХे рд░ूрдк рдоें рд▓िрдЦी рдЧрдИ рдЙрди рдХी рдЗрди рдЕрдж्рднुрдд рдХрд╡िрддाрдУं рдХो рдкрдв़рдиा рдЕрдкрдиे рдЖрдк рдоें рдПрдХ рд╕рдоृрдж्рдз рдЕрдиुрднрд╡ рд╣ै।

 ‘рд╕ीрддा рдХी рд░рд╕ोрдИ’ рдоें рд╡े рд▓िрдЦрддी рд╣ैं:

‘рд╕ीрддा рдХी рд╣ै рдпрд╣ рд░рд╕ोрдИ–
рдЧрд░्рдо рддрд╡ा рдкрдд्рдерд░ рд╣ी
рдиाрдЪ рд░рд╣ी рд╣ै рдЬрд╣ां рдЖंрдХी-рдмांрдХी рдмेрд▓ी
рд░ोрдЯिрдпाँ–
рдЪिрдкрдЯी,рдкрддрд▓ी-рдкрддрд▓ी рдЭूрд░ рдЭूрд░ рд╕ेंрдХी рд╣ुрдИं
рдЕрдм рд╕рдм рдПрдХ рдПрдХ рдЯुрдХрдб़ा рд▓े рд▓ो
рдирди्рд╣े рдмाрдЦा рддुрдо рднी рд▓ो
рдз्рдпाрди рд░рд╣े, рд╕рдм рдХा рд╣िрд╕्рд╕ा рд╣ो рдмрд░ाрдмрд░ 
рди рдПрдХ рдХрддрд░ा рдЗрдзрд░, рди рдПрдХ рдХрддрд░ा рдЙрдзрд░…
……………
рдПрдХ рдкрд░िрдкूрд░्рдг рдЙрджाрд░ рдоां рдХा рдЖрджेрд╢ рд╣ै рдпрд╣
рдХрд╣ीं рдФрд░ рдЬрди्рдоे 
рд╣े рдоाрдирд╕- рдкुрдд्рд░ рдоेрд░े!
……………
рднोрдЬрди рд╣ी рдПрдХाрдд्рдо рдХрд░рддा рд╣ै 
рдордиुрдЬ-рдоाрдд्рд░ рдХो।’

 рд╕ीрддा, рд░ाрдзा, рд╢्рд░ी рдХृрд╖्рдг, рд▓рдХ्рд╖्рдоी, рд░ाрдиी рдкрдж्рдоिрдиी, рдорд╣ाрд░ाрдиी рдЧाрдпрдд्рд░ी рджेрд╡ी, рд╢िрд▓ा рджेрд╡ी рддрдеा рдоंрдерд░ा рджाрд╕ी рдХे рд╡िрд╡िрдз рд╡िрд╡ेрдЪрди рдоाрд▓ाрд╢्рд░ी рд▓ाрд▓ рдХрднी рдЖрдзुрдиिрдХ рд╡ рдЙрджाрдд्рдд рджृрд╖्рдЯिрдХोрдг рд╕े рдХрд░рддी рд╣ैं рддो рдХрднी рд░ूрдв़िрдмрдж्рдз рд╡ рдПрдХрдкрдХ्рд╖ीрдп рд╕े। рдЙрджाрд╣рд░рдгрдд:
 рд░ाрдиी рдкрдж्рдоिрдиी рдХो рд▓े рдХрд░ рд╡рд╣ рдкूрдЫрддी рд╣ैं,

‘рдЖрдЬ рдкрдж्рдоिрдиी рдХा рдмрд▓िрджाрди 
рдЧрд▓рдд рдХे рд░ूрдк рдоें рджेрдЦा рдЬाрддा рд╣ै
рдк्рд░рд╢्рди рдпрд╣ рд╣ै рдХि рдХ्рдпा рдЖрдк рдкुрди: рд▓िрдЦ рд╕рдХрддे рд╣ैं
рдоूрд▓्рдп рдЬो рдЕрддीрдд рдоें рдордЬрдмूрдд рдеे?’

 рдЙрди рдХी рдоंрдерд░ा рджाрд╕ी рдпрд╣ाँ рдПрдХ рджрдпрдиीрдп рдХुрдмрдб़ी рд╣ै рдЬो рдХैрдХрдпी рдХे рдорди рдоें рднрд░рдд рдХे рд▓िрдП рд░ाрдЬ्рдпाрднिрд╖ेрдХ рдоांрдЧрдиे рдХा рдмीрдЬ рдЫोрдб़рдиे рдХे рд▓िрдП рдЕрдкрдиे рдХो рджोрд╖рдоुрдХ्рдд рдХрд░ाрд░ рдХрд░рддी рд╣ै,

‘рдХ्рдпा рдЧрд▓рддी рдеी рдоैंрдиे рдЧ़рд░
рдЕрдкрдиी рдмрдЪ्рдЪी рдХी рд╕ुрд░рдХ्рд╖ा рдЪाрд╣ी?
рдХौрди рдоां рдирд╣ीं рджेрдЦрддी рд╕्рд╡рдк्рди 
рдЕрдкрдиी рд░ाрдЬрдХुрдоाрд░ी рдХे рдорд╣ाрд░ाрдиी рд╣ोрдиे рдХा?’

 рд╢िрд▓ा рджेрд╡ी рдХी рдХрдеा рдЙрди्рд╣ें рдЕрдкрдиे рдоूрд▓- рд╕्рдеाрди, рдЬрдпрдкुрд░, рдХे рдЖрдоेрд░ рдХे рдХिрд▓े рдХे рд╕ंрдЧ рдПрдХ рдЕрдЬрдм рд░ोрдоांрдЪ рд╕े рднрд░рддी рд░рд╣ी рд╣ै рддो рд╡рд╣ीं рдПрдХ рд▓ंрдмी рдмीрдоाрд░ी рдХे рдмीрдЪ рдПрдХ рдПрдХाрдХी рд╕ंрдШрд░्рд╖ рдХे рдмाрдж рдЕрди्рддрдд: рдкрд░рд▓ोрдХ рд╕िрдзाрд░ рдЪुрдХीं рдЙрди рдХी рдоां рдХी рдпाрдж рдЙрди्рд╣ें рдПрдХ рдЭीрд▓ рдкрд░ ‘рдПрдХ рдЕрдзीрд░-рд╕ी рд▓рд╣рд░ рдХी рдЭिрд▓рдоिрд▓ाрд╣рдЯ рдоें’ рдЕрдкрдиी рдХांрдкрддी- рд╕ी рдоुрд╕्рдХाрди рдФрд░ рдмुрджрдмुрджाрд╣рдЯ рдХे рд╕ाрде ‘рдЦुрд░рджुрд░ी рдЪрдЯ्рдЯाрдиों рд╡ाрд▓े рдмंрджрд░рдЧाрд╣ рдХे рдХिрдиाрд░े’ рдЖрди рдк्рд░рдХрдЯ рд╣ोрддी рд╣ै рдФрд░ рд╡рд╣ рд╕ोрдЪрддी рд╣ैं,

‘рддрдм рдпрд╣ीं рдХрд╣ीं,
рдЗрди्рд╣ीं рдЕрдирдЬाрди рдХिрдиाрд░ों рдкрд░
рд╣рдо рдлिрд░ рдоिрд▓ेंрдЧे 
рдЬीрд╡рди рдФрд░ рдоृрдд्рдпु
рддрдм рдЕрд▓рдЧ рдирд╣ीं рд╣ोंрдЧे।’

 рд╢ाрдпрдж рдЕрдкрдиी рдЗрд╕ ‘рд╕्рдоृрддि’ рдХрд╡िрддा рдоें рднी рд╡рд╣ рдЕрдкрдиी рдоाँ рд╣ी рдХो рд╕ंрдмोрдзिрдд рдХрд░ рд░рд╣ी рд╣ैं, 

‘рддुрдо्рд╣ाрд░े рд╕ाрде рд╣ी рдЧाрдпрдм рд╣ो рдЧрдпा рдЬाрджू,
рдПрдХ рдзुंрдзрд▓ी рд╕ुрдмрд╣
рдоेрд░ा рдзрдб़рдХрддा рджिрд▓
рдФрд░ рддुрдо्рд╣ाрд░ा рдЪрдХрдиाрдЪूрд░ рд╢рд░ीрд░
рдЕрдорд░рдд्рд╡ рдХे
рдПрдХ рдЕрдЬीрдм рддрдоाрд╢े рдоें рд╢ाрдоिрд▓ рд╣ो рдЧрдП...’

 рд╡ाрдирд╕्рдкрддिрдХ рджुрдиिрдпा рдоें рд╕े рд╡рд╣ рдПрдХ рдЖрдо्рд░-рд╡ृрдХ्рд╖ рдХा рдЙрд▓्рд▓ेрдЦ рдХрд░рддी рд╣ैं рдЬो рджोрдкрд╣рд░ рдХी рд░ोрд╢рдиी рдоें рдЖँрдЦ рдЭрдкрдХाрддा рд╣ै,

‘рдЧुрд▓рдоोрд╣рд░ рдХी рдкрдд्рддिрдпों рдХे рдкीрдЫे
рдЧाрдпрдм рд╣ोрдиे рдХा рдЦेрд▓ рдЦेрд▓рддे рд╣ुрдП
рдЬрдм рднी рдоैं рдиे рдПрдХ рдЪेрд╣рд░ा рдвूंрдврдиा рдЪाрд╣ा
рдХ्рдпा рд╕्рдХूрд▓ рдХा рд╕ाрдеी рдеा?
рдмрд░ाрдмрд░ рдХे рдмिрд╕्рддрд░ рдХा рдорд░ीреЫ?
рд╢ाрдпрдж рдЯ्рд░ैрдл़िрдХ рд▓ाрдЗрдЯ рдкрд░ рдЦрдб़ी рдорд╣िрд▓ा, рдЬिрд╕рдХी 
 рд╣рдеेрд▓िрдпां рдлैрд▓ी рд╣ुрдИं рдеीं…
рдпा рдоेрд░ा рдЕрд╕्рддрд╡्рдпрд╕्рдд рдкрдб़ोрд╕ी? 
………
рдХोрдИ рд╣ै
рдЕрди्рдп рд▓ोрдЧों рдХे рд▓िрдП рдЕрджृрд╢्рдп, рд▓ेрдХिрди 
рдоेрд░े рдЕрдкрдиे рдпрдХीрди рдоें
рдЖрдо्рд░-рд╡ृрдХ्рд╖ рд╕рджा рдПрдХ рдЫाрдпा рдЫुрдкाрддे рд╣ैं।’

 рд╢ोрдиाрдЭुрд░ी рдХे рд╡ृрдХ्рд╖ों рдХे рд╕ाрде рд╡рд╣ рдордпूрд░ाрдХृрдХ्рд╖ी рдирджी рдХे рд╢ाрдоिрд▓ рд╣ोрдиे рдХी рдмाрдд рдХрд░рддी рд╣ैं рддो рдкिрд▓рдЦрди рд╡ृрдХ्рд╖ рдХे рд╕ाрде рдоाрд▓ाрд╢्рд░ी рд▓ाрд▓ рдмीрддрддे рд╡рд░्рд╖ рдХो рд╡िрджाрдИ рджेрддे рд╣ुрдП рд╡्рдпंрдЧ्рдп рдХрд░рддी рд╣ैं:

‘рдЙрд╕े рдЪिंрддा рдордиुрд╖्рдпों рдХी рд╣ै
рдЬो рддрдд्рдкрд░ рдПрдХ- рджूрд╕рд░े рдХो рд╡рдЪрди рд╕े, рдХрд░्рдо рд╕े рдЦ़рдд्рдо рдХрд░рдиे рдХो,
рдордЧрд░ рдЗрдХрдЯ्рдаे рд╣ोрддे рд╣ैं рд╣рд░ рдХ्рд░िрд╕рдорд╕ рдкрд░ рдЖрд╕рдкाрд╕ 
рд╡ृрдХ्рд╖ рдХे
рдирдХрд▓ी рдЙрдкрд╣ाрд░ों рдФрд░ рдмेрд░ुрдЦी рднрд░ी рдоुрд╕्рдХाрдиों рдХे рд╕ाрде
рдлिрд░ рдПрдХ рдирдП рд╕ाрд▓ рдХा рдЬрд╢्рди рдордиाрдиे рдХे рд▓िрдП।’

 рдирджिрдпों рдоें рд╡рд╣ рд╕्рдпाрд╣ рднрдЧीрд░рдеी, рдЪрдордХрддी рдЕрд▓рдХрдиंрджा рдХा рдЙрдд्рд╕ाрд╣ी рдЙрд▓्рд▓ेрдЦ рдХрд░рддी рд╣ैं, рдордЧрд░ рдЧंрдЧा рдХी рдЙрдкрдирджी, рддрдорд╕ा рдХे рдХिрдиाрд░े рд╡рд╣ рдоाрддृрдд्рд╡ рдХी рдк्рд░рддीрдХ्рд╖ा рдоें рдЕрдкрдиे ‘рдЧрд░्рдн рдоें рдкрд▓ рд░рд╣े’ рдПрдХ рд╕े рдЕрдзिрдХ рдк्рд░ाрдгों рдкрд░ рдЪिंрддрди-рдордирди рдХрд░рддी рд╣ैं,

‘рдоां рдкृрде्рд╡ी рдХी рдЕрдкрдиी рд╡िрд░ाрд╕рдд 
рд╕ौंрдк рджूंрдЧी рдЕрдкрдиे рдЬुрдб़рд╡ां рдмрдЪ्рдЪों рдХो
рдкंрдЪрднूрдд рд╣ोंрдЧे рдЙрди्рд╣ें рдкाрд▓рдиे рдХो
рдкंрдЪрд╡िрдж्рдпा рдЙрди्рд╣ें рд░ाрд╣ рджिрдЦाрдиे рдХो
рдоेрд░ा рдЕрдкрдиा рд░ाрд╕्рддा рдЕрдкрд░िрдЧ्рд░рд╣ рдХा рд╣ै–
рд╕рднी рд╕ंрдмंрдзों рд╕े рдоुрдХ्рдд 
рдкрд░िрдиिрд░्рд╡ाрдг рдХे рд▓िрдП рддैрдпाрд░ рд╣ै рдПрдХ рдоां।’

 рдкुрд░рдЧ़ौрд░ рдЙрди рдХी рд╡े рдХрд╡िрддाрдПं рднी рд╣ैं, рдЬिрди рдоें рдЕрдорд▓рддाрд╕, рдмोрдЧрдирд╡ेрд▓िрдпा, рд╣िрдмिрд╕्рдХрд╕, рдЫुрдИ-рдоुрдИ, рдЪंрдкा, рдЧुрд▓рдиाрд░, рдоोрд░рдкंрдЦ рд╡ рдИрд╕्рдЯрд░ рдХुрдоुрдж рдЙрди рдХी рдЗрд╕ рдкुрд╕्рддрдХ рдоें рд╕्рдеाрди рдкाрддे рд╣ै।

 рдХाрд╡्рдп рд▓ेрдЦрди рдХे рд╡िрд╖рдп рдоें рд╡рд╣ рдЕрдкрдиी рднूрдоिрдХा, ‘рдХрд╡िрддा: рдПрдХ рдорд░рд╣рдо рднрд░ा рд╕्рдкрд░्рд╢’ рдоें рд▓िрдЦрддी рд╣ैं ’рдЕрдкрдиी рдЬीрд╡рди-рдХрдеा рдХे рд╡िрд╕्рддृрдд рд╕ंрджрд░्рдн рдоें рдоुрдЭे рдпрдХीрди рд╣ो рдЪрд▓ा рд╣ै рдХि рдХрд╡िрддा рдЙрди рдХрд╖्рдЯрджाрдпрдХ рд╡िрд╕्рдеाрдкрдиों рдХे рд▓िрдП рдорд░рд╣рдо рд╣ै рдЬो рдЬीрд╡рди рдХे рдЕрдиुрднрд╡ों рдХा рдПрдХ рдЕрдиिрд╡ाрд░्рдп рдЕंрдЧ рд╣ैं।’

рд░рд╡ीрди्рдж्рд░ рдиाрде рдЯैрдЧोрд░ рдХो рдпाрдж рдХрд░рддी рд╣ुрдИं: 
‘рдЬрдм рдоैं рджिрди рд╕рдоाрдк्рдд рд╣ोрдиे рдкрд░ рддुрдо्рд╣ाрд░े рд╕ाрдордиे рдЦрдб़ा рд╣ोрдКंрдЧा рдФрд░ рддुрдо рдоेрд░े рдЬ़рдЦ्рдоों рдХे рдиिрд╢ाрди рджेрдЦोрдЧे, рддो рддुрдо рдЬाрди рдЬाрдУрдЧे рдХि рдоुрдЭे рдЬ़рдЦ्рдо рднी рдоिрд▓े рд╣ैं рдФрд░ рдорд░рд╣рдо рднी।’
 рдЕрдкрдиी рдПрдХ рдХрд╡िрддा рдоें рд╡рд╣ рдЗрд╕े рдЧ्рд░рд╣рдг рдХрд░рддी рд╣ुрдИ рдХрд╣рддी рд╣ैं,

‘рдЗрддрдиा рдХाрдл़ी рд╣ै рдоैं рдиे рдПрдХ рд░ाрд╕्рддा рдвूंрдвा
рдХिрд╕ी рдФрд░ рдХा рд╣ी рд╕рд╣ी
рдкрд░ рдоैं рдиे рд╕ोрдЪ рд╕рдордЭ рдХрд░
рд╕्рд╡рдпं рдХो рдЙрд╕ рдкрд░ рдЪрд▓рддा рдкाрдпा’

рдФрд░ рд╢ाрдпрдж рдЙрд╕ рдкрд░ рдЪрд▓рддे-рдЪрд▓рддे рд╣ुрдП рд╣ी рд╡рд╣ рдЙрд╕ рд╕ाрд░्рд╡рднौрдоिрдХ рдоंрдбрд▓ рдХी рдЬांрдЪ-рдкрд░рдЦ рдХे рдиिрдХрдЯ рдЬा рдкाрдпीं рдЬрд╣ाँ,

‘рджोрдкрд╣рд░ рдХी рдзूрдк рдХी рдПрдХ рдХिрд░рдг рдХे рд╕ाрде рдЙрда рдХрд░
рдЬीрд╡рди рдХे рдЕрдирд▓िрдЦे рдкрди्рдиों рдХो рдЬांрдЪрддे рд╣ुрдП рднी
рдЬीрд╡िрдд рд░рд╣рдиे рдХे рд▓िрдП рд╢рдм्рдж рдЪुрдирдиा।’

 рдкुрд╕्рддрдХ рдХी рдк्рд░рд╕्рддाрд╡рдиा рдЕрдиाрдоिрдХा рдиे рд▓िрдЦी рд╣ै। рдЕрдиूрдаे рдЕрдкрдиे рдХाрд╡्рдпाрдд्рдордХ рдЕंрджाрдЬ़ рдоें рдЗрди рдХрд╡िрддाрдУं рдХी рдзрдордХ рдХो рдЗрди рд╢рдм्рджों рдоें рд╕рдоेрдЯрддी рд╣ुрдИं:
‘рдзрд░рддी рдХे рднीрддрд░- рднीрддрд░ рд╣ी рд╕рд╣ी, рдЕंрдд:рд╕рд▓िрд▓ाрдУं рдХी рддрд░рд╣ рдЬрдб़ें рднी рджूрд░ рддрдХ рдЬाрддी рд╣ैं- рдмрд╣рдиों рдХी рддрд░рд╣ рдПрдХ-рджूрд╕рд░े рдХी рдмाрд╣ें рдеाрдоे।
рдЗрддрдиी рд╣ी рджूрд░ рдЬाрддी рд╣ैं рд╕्рдоृрддि рдХी рддрд░ंрдЧें рдФрд░ рдХрд╡िрддाрдПँ।’

 рд╕ूрдд्рд░рдзाрд░ рд╣ोрдиे рдХे рдиाрддे рдЕрд▓рдХा рдд्рдпाрдЧी рдмрддाрддी рд╣ैं рдХि рдмाрд░рд╣ рдХрд╡ि рдоिрдд्рд░ों: рдЕрдиाрдоिрдХा, рдоीрдиा рдЪोрдкрдб़ा, рд░ेрдЦा рд╕ेрдаी, рд╕ंрдЬुрдХ्рддा рджाрд╕рдЧुрдк्рддा, рддृрдк्рддि рдкांрдбे, рдЕंрд╢ु рд╣рд░्рд╖, рдирдмрдиीрддा рд╕ेрдирдЧुрдк्рддा, рд╕ीрдоा рдЬैрди, рд╕ाрди्рдпा рдд्рдпाрдЧी, рд╕ंрдЬीрд╡ рдХौрд╢рд▓, рдХुрдоाрд░ рдЕрдиुрдкрдо рддрдеा рдЕрдоिрдд рдХрд▓्рд▓ा рдиे рдЗрди рдоें рд╕े рдЕрдкрдиी-рдЕрдкрдиी рдкрд╕ंрджीрджा рдХрд╡िрддाрдУं рдХा ‘рд░ूрдкांрддрд░рдг’ рдХिрдпा рд╣ै।

 рдпрд╣ рд╕ुрдЦрдж рд╣ै рдХि рдпे рд╕рднी рдХрд╡िрддाрдПँ рдоाрд▓ाрд╢्рд░ी рд▓ाрд▓ рдХी рдЕंрддрд░्рднूрдд рдкैрдиी рджृрд╖्рдЯि, рдЕрднिрдЬ्рдЮ рд╕ौंрджрд░्рдп-рдмोрдз рддрдеा рддाрдд्рд╡िрдХ рджрд░्рд╢рди рдЪिрд╣्рдиिрдд рдХрд░рддी рд╣ैं рдФрд░ рд╣рдо рдЙрди рд╕े рдк्рд░рднाрд╡िрдд рд╣ुрдП рдмिрдиा рдирд╣ीं рд░рд╣ рд╕рдХрддे।