Showing posts with label Satire. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Satire. Show all posts

Translation: The Rat Versus Me (Harishankar Parsai)

Harishankar Parsai's (1924-1995) "Chuha or Main" (рдЪूрд╣ा рдФрд░ рдоैं)
Translated from Hindi by Christine Fair

Harishankar Parsai
(1924-1995) was a modern Hindi writer who is most known for his satirical and humorous writings as well as his simple and direct style. His body of work is and included novels as well as short stories. He was awarded the prestigious Sahitya Akademy Award. Parsai is also renowned for raising challenging questions about society and the social and political challenges that middle-class persons confront in their daily lives. While this story is in the public domain and marketed as “children’s literature,” the themes are very adult and saliant for contemporary audiences throughout the world.

Christine Fair is a professor in Georgetown University’s Security Studies Program within the School of Foreign Service where he studies political and military events of South Asia. Her books include In Their Own Words: Understanding the Lashkar-e-Tayyaba (OUP 2019); Fighting to the End: The Pakistan Army’s Way of War (OUP, 2014); and Cuisines of the Axis of Evil and Other Irritating States (Globe Pequot, 2008). Her forthcoming book is Lines of Control: Lashkar-e-Tayyaba’s Militant Piety, with Safina Ustad (Oxford University Press, 2021). She has published creative pieces in The Bark, The Dime Show Review, Furious Gazelle, Hyptertext, Lunch Ticket, Clementine Unbound, Fifty Word Stories, The Drabble, Sandy River Review, Barzakh Magazine, Bluntly Magazine, Badlands Literary Journal, among others. Her visual work has appeared in Vox Populi, The Indianapolis Review, Typehouse Literary Magazine, The New Southern Fugitives, Glassworks and Existere Journal of Arts. Her translations have appeared in the Bombay Literary Magazine, Bombay Review, Muse India and Punch The Magazine. She causes trouble in multiple languages.

 
This story has nothing to do with Steinbeck’s novel “Of Men and Mice.”
I wanted to give this story the title of “Me Versus the Rat,” but the rat has devastated my self-esteem. This rat in my house has already accomplished what I could never manage. This rat has accomplished what no ordinary man could and then, he talked about it.
There was a fat rat in this house. When the wife of my little brother was around, food was prepared in this house. Since then, due to some family tragedies—such as the death of my brother-in-law among others—we had been residing elsewhere.
This rat came to understand that it was his right that I should bring food into the house for him. To date, even men have not managed to understand their rights as this rat did.
For some 45 days, the house was locked up. When I returned alone and opened up the house, I saw that the rat had knocked down and smashed up quite a bit of crockery. He must have been trashing the place looking for food.  He must have been looking inside the crockery and containers for something to eat. He would not have found anything and must have gone to the neighbors to find something to eat to stay alive. But he did not leave the house. He understood this house to be his own.
When I burst in on him, the light was on, but I could see that he was happily squeaking and running here and there. Maybe he thought that now, food will be made in this house, that he’ll open up the containers and get one of the rations. 
All day he happily roamed the house. I watched him and I enjoyed his joy.
But food production in the house did not resume. I was alone. In the afternoon, I would have lunch at my sister’s place nearby.  I eat late at night so my sister would send a tiffin over for me. Having eaten, I would close the tiffin and store it. Rat lord must have felt despair. He must have been thinking “What kind of house is this? The human has returned. There’s even electricity. But no one is making food. If food were prepared, I would at least get some scattered grains or pieces of bread.”
Then I had an altogether new experience. At night, time and again, the rat would fidget with the mosquito net up by my head.  Throughout the night he’d disrupt my sleep. I would chase him off. But a bit later, he would come right back and begin making a racket near my head.
He was starving. But how did he come to figure out the difference between my head and my feet? He hadn’t been mucking about near my feet. One time, he came right into the mosquito net.
I was very worried. What should I do? If I hit him and he scurried underneath an armoire and died, then he’d start to rot, and the entire house would be filled with stench. Then I’d have to move the heavy armoire and remove him.
The rat would make a ruckus in the house all day long and would irritate me at night. I’d fall asleep, but Rat Lord would begin making a nuisance of himself near my head.  
Finally, one day, I finally figured out the problem: the rat needed to eat. He believes this house is his. He is quite aware of a rat’s rights. At night maybe he would come to my pillow and say this “Brother! What’s going on with you. You eat until your belly is full. But I am starving. I am a member of this household. I have my rights. I am going to wreck your sleep.” Then I hatched a plan to fulfill his demands.
At night, I left the tiffin open and put a few pieces of papadum here and there. The rat came out from wherever, picked up a piece, sat under the armoire, and began to eat. After finishing my meal, I scattered some pieces of bread on the floor for him. In the morning I saw that he had eaten it all.
One day, my sister sent over rice papadums. I left three or four pieces for him. The rat came, sniffed, and went away. He did not like rice papadums. I was astonished by the rat’s preference. I gave him some pieces of bread. He would come and take each piece one by one.
This became routine. I would leave the tiffin open, and the rat would come out and begin looking it over. I’d put a few pieces down for him on the floor. At night, he’d eat it and go to sleep.
For my part, I too slept peacefully. The rat wasn’t getting up to nonsense by my head.
Then one day he showed up with one of his brothers. He must have said something like “Dude, come over to this house with me. I irritated this guy with bread, terrorized him and made him give me food. Come, both of us will eat. He damned well better feed us if he knows what’s good for him. Otherwise, we will f**k up his sleep good and proper. It’s our right.”
Now both Rat Lords were eating at the table.
But I got to thinking. Has a human become less worthy than a rat? This rat is all up in my face asserting his right to eat. He wrecks my sleep for it!
When will the men of this country begin acting up like this rat?

Bapu in 2020

Mitali Chakravarty
The sun streaked an orange-gold across the Himalayan range in Dehradun. There was a chill in the air. Bapu wrapped the shawl closer to his body and looked out sadly. He was dressed in his traditional dhoti and a light wrap. It felt too cold in mid-September to be dressed like that and yet, it was too warm to don a warm shawl. Global warming had truly set in as God had said.
He adjusted his glasses — though they were more cosmetic now. His body was different too — not his own but borrowed from a stripling of twenty-four! 
If you are wondering what was happening, here is the flashback. 
It was 2020. Delhi riots in March had shattered Bapu's dream of a united India — where all religions co-existed. The mishandling of the Citizenship Amendment Act had been a bad blow. But the riots in New Delhi around Holi where there were Hindu- Muslim clashes had Bapu in Heaven weeping and beating his chest. What had happened to his India? 
In Heaven, there is but one rule that is compulsory for all the souls. They need to be happy. If they expressed unhappiness, they were sent back to Earth to serve another lifetime to find peace and happiness. And if it was something that needed emergency handling, God exchanged souls — kept the other in limbo anaesthetised. 
So, when God caught Gandhi weeping, he asked him, "What has happened to you?" Kasturba, Gandhi's wife, was stroking his back with concern written all over her face.
Gandhi, between broken sobs, expressed what had happened, God said, "Fine, you need to fix it now. You had said hate the sin, but not the sinner, and were a friend to the underprivileged. And now, worldwide, there is a spree of envy, hatred — more for the sinners than the sin, widespread violence, intolerance, and no peace anywhere. The world as you knew it is no more. Nature has also unleashed COVID 19 to discipline mankind — so that the planet continues habitable and man ceases to be rapacious in his greed and outlook. You need to get back there al pronto. Let me check with the human resource to see what can be done to have you there."
Kasturba said, "Can I go too...?"
God interrupted, "No Kasturba. Don't complicate matters. Hopefully, this can be fixed fast and Gandhi can return in a few days."

God returned after half-an-hour. "Gandhi, we have found a perfect spot. One 24-year-old boy is in a coma as he has had a motorbike accident. Only his head was injured because he rode without a helmet. So, his soul is already in limbo. You might as well go into his body — do your hunger fast or whatever and get back soon. Then we will awaken his soul and send it back!"

Gandhi had no choice, but to accede to God. He came down on Earth and twenty-four-year-old Abhishek woke up calling himself Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi! 

He was instantly put under psychiatric care. Meanwhile, as lockdown had emptied hospitals off patients, Abhishek or Gandhi was considered safe and non-violent enough to be sent home. He came home. To his mother's distress, he turned vegetarian and took to dressing in a loincloth and wrap! 

When he tried to go on a hunger strike, no one listened. He was back in the hospital with a glucose drip! And force-fed. He did not have the media attention or following that made hunger strikes effective in the twentieth century. The COVID19 lockdown had imposed restrictions on gatherings. He would be in jail if he tried to use Gandhian tools as a lunatic lawbreaker! He had already broken it once speeding on his bike and riding without a helmet.

Gandhi felt distressed. He could do nothing. The hatred raged. The economy was in the doldrums. And the China border skirmish was an ongoing discomfort. No one listened to Abhishek — for that is what the world regarded him as. 
On top of that, there was something called television that raved about the suicide of a Sushant, as if poverty had ceased to be an issue or the collapsing economy or the China conflict... Bollywood, a strange name for talkies makers, hogged all the news! And the Hindu Mahasabha and RSS, organisations to which his killer Godse had belonged, seemed to be in ascendancy along with something called the BJP... it was chaos. 
He felt unvalued. His teachings were ignored despite his title — Father of the Nation. Congress had fallen into weaker hands of those who had distanced themselves from the pain of the poverty-stricken. 

He could see it all from a distance so clearly. Why could not his countrymen?

Social media was a major player — he found it difficult to master the mobile. There was something called Facebook where people put pictures of themselves, eating, breathing, partying, and merrymaking — under Abhishek's name, there were pictures of his bare body. Abhishek's body was young and sturdy with six-pack muscles. He had taken pride in building muscles. He had at a point talked of a career in modeling, whereas Gandhi looked for modeling of character. A huge difference between the two!

Gandhi had tears rolling down his eyes. He should not have come. He could do nothing. He would rather be with Kasturba celebrating his former birthdate. As soon as he thought this, he was back in heaven. 

God had recalled him. Abhishek's soul had returned to the body unblemished! 

God put his hand on Gandhi's shoulder and said, "Gandhi, no shortcuts, I think. You need to be reborn and attune yourself to the modern world to make the changes. Your soul will have the imprint of your last birth and you will be able to find systems that will cure the world of its ills. You will start your journey after your birthday bash in heaven and we will let Kasturba go with you as a bonus! Go invent an out-of-the-box solution!"
***
Bio: Mitali Chakravarty is a writer and the founding editor of Borderless Journal. She likes to ride on light beams and waft among clouds in quest of a world filled with ideas mooted by her idol, the eighteenth century poet Lalon. She seeks a world sealed with love, tolerance, kindness and harmony.

рд╢ाрдо рдХो рдЙрд╕े 'рдЯрдЪ' рдордд рдХрд░рдиा (рд╡्рдпंрдЧ्рдп)



рдмрд╣ुрдд рджिрдиों рд╕े рдЗрдЪ्рдЫा рдеी рдХि рдоिрдд्рд░ рдЫрдж्рдоेрд╢्рд╡рд░  рдХे рдШрд░ рдЬा рдХрд░ рдоिрд▓ूँ, рдХुрдЫ рдмрддिрдпाрдКँ। рдХुрдЫ рдЙрд╕рдХी рд╕ुрдиूँ, рдХुрдЫ рдЕрдкрдиी рд╕ुрдиाрдКँ, рд▓ेрдХिрди рдЯीрд╡ी рджेрдЦрдиे рдФрд░ рдмीрд╡ी рдХी рд╕ेрд╡ा рд╕े рдлुрд░рд╕рдд рдоिрд▓े рддрдм рди। рдФрд░ рдЕрдм рддो 'рдлेрд╕рдмुрдХ' рддрдеा 'рд╡्рд╣ाрдЯ्рд╕рдРрдк' рдкрд▓्рд▓े рдкрдб़ рдЧрдпा рд╣ै. рдЗрд╕рдХी рдоोрд╣рдиी рдРрд╕ी рд╣ै рдХि рд╣рдо рдЕрдкрдиे рд╣ी рдмंрдзुрдЖ рдордЬ़рджूрд░ рдмрди рдЧрдП рд╣ैं. рдлिрд░ рдЯीрд╡ी рддो рдЬैрд╕े рдЯीрдмी рдХी рдмीрдоाрд░ी рд╣ै рд╣ी. рд▓ाрдЗрд▓ाрдЬ। рди рддो рдХिрд╕ी рдХे рдШрд░  рдЬाрдиा  рдЕрдЪ्рдЫा рд▓рдЧрддा рд╣ै рдФрд░ рди рдХिрд╕ी рдХा рдЕрдкрдиे рдШрд░ рдкрд░  рдЖрдиा рд╕ुрд╣ाрддा рд╣ै । рдпे рд╕рд╕ुрд░े рдЪैрдирд▓рд╡ाрд▓े  рдЪैрди рдирд╣ीं рд▓ेрдиे рджेрддे। рдЗрд╕ рдЪैрдирд▓ рдХे рдЪрдХ्рдХрд░ рдоें рд▓ोрдЧ рдмेрдЪैрди рд╣ोрдиे рд▓рдЧे рд╣ैं। рд▓ेрдХिрди рджिрд▓ рд╣ै рдХि рдоाрдирддा рдирд╣ीं। рдХрднी-рдХрднी рд▓рдЧрддा рд╣ै рдкुрд░ाрдиे рджोрд╕्рддों рд╕े рдоिрд▓ рд▓िрдпा рдЬाрдп। рдкрддा  рдирд╣ीं рдХрдм рдпрд╣ рдЖрдд्рдоा рдкрд░рдоाрдд्рдоा рддрдХ рдкрд╣ुँрдЪ рдЬाрдП. 
рдоैंрдиे рдоिрдд्рд░ рдЧрдкोрдбूрд░ाрдо  рд╕े рдХрд╣ा- ''рдЪрд▓ो рдпाрд░, рдЖрдЬ рд╢ाрдо рдЫрдж्рдоेрд╢्рд╡рд░  рдХे рдШрд░ рдЪрд▓рддे рд╣ैं।''
рдЗрддрдиा рд╕ुрдирдиा рдеा рдХि рдоिрдд्рд░ рдмोрд▓ा- ''рдЕрд░े... рдЕрд░े, рдЙрд╕े рд╢ाрдо рдХो  'рдЯрдЪ' рдордд рдХिрдпा  рдХрд░ो। рдХрднी рджिрди рдоें, рд╣ाँ, рдЫुрдЯ्рдЯी рд╡ाрд▓े рдХिрд╕ी рджिрди рдоिрд▓рдиे рдЪрд▓ेंрдЧे рди ।''
рдоैं рд╕рдордЭ рдЧрдпा рдХि рдЫрдж्рдоेрд╢्рд╡рд░  рднी рд╢ाрдо рдХो рдоेрд░ी рддрд░рд╣ рдЯीрд╡ीрдмाрдЬी рдоें рд╡्рдпрд╕्рдд рд╣ो рдЬाрддा рд╣ोрдЧा, рдпा рдЙрд╕рдХा рднी ''рд╡्рд╣ाрдЯ्рд╕рдРрдкीрдХрд░рдг' рд╣ो рдЧрдпा рд╣ै,  рдЗрд╕рд▓िрдП рдоिрдд्рд░  рдордиा рдХрд░  рд░рд╣ा  рд╣ै।
рдХुрдЫ рджिрди рдмाрдж рдлिрд░ рдоेрд░ी рдЗрдЪ्рдЫा  рдиे рдЬोрд░ рдоाрд░ा।
рдоैंрдиे рдХрд╣ा- ''рдЪрд▓ें рдЖрдЬ, рдЫрдж्рдоेрд╢्рд╡рд░  рдХे рдШрд░ ?''
рдоिрдд्рд░  рдиे рдоुрд╕्рдХрд░ाрддे рд╣ुрдП рдХрд╣ा- ''рд╢ाрдо рдХो рдЙрд╕े 'рдЯрдЪ' рдХрд░рдиा рдаीрдХ рдирд╣ीं ।''
рдоैंрдиे рдЭрд▓्рд▓ा рдХрд░ рдХрд╣ा- ''рдЕрд░े рдпाрд░, рддुрдо рдЕрдкрдиे рдоिрдд्рд░ рдХो  рдЗрд╕ рдЯी.рд╡ी.рдл़ोрдмिрдпा рд╕े рдоुрдХ्рдд рдХрд░ो। рдпे рдХ्рдпा рддрдоाрд╢ा рд╣ै рдХि  рд╢ाрдо рд╣ोрддे рд╣ी рд╡рд╣ рдЯीрд╡ी рд╕े рдЪिрдкрдХ рдЬाрддा рд╣ै рдпा рдмीрд╡ी рд╕े ?''
рдоिрдд्рд░  рдмोрд▓ा- ''рдпрд╣ рдмाрдд рдирд╣ीं рд╣ै рдкाрд░्рдЯрдирд░,  рдоाрдорд▓ा рдХुрдЫ рдФрд░ рд╣ै।''
''рдХ्рдпा ? рдЙрд╕рдХे рдШрд░  рдоें рдХोрдИ  рдмीрдоाрд░ рд╣ै, рдЬिрд╕рдХी рд╕ेрд╡ा рдЫрдж्рдоेрд╢्рд╡рд░  рдХो рдХрд░рдиी рдкрдб़рддी рд╣ै?''
рдоिрдд्рд░ рд╣ँрд╕ рдХрд░  рдмोрд▓ा- ''рдпрд╣ рдмाрдд рднी рдирд╣ीं, рдЕрдм рддुрдо рдЬ़्рдпाрджा   рдЬोрд░ рджे рд░рд╣े рд╣ो рддो рдмрддा рджेрддा рд╣ूं। рд╣рдоाрд░े рдоिрдд्рд░  рдЫрдж्рдоेрд╢्рд╡рд░  рдХो рдкीрдиे-рдкाрдиे рдХे рд╢ौрдХीрди рд╣ै। рдмेрдЪाрд░े рдХिрд╕ी рдмाрд░ рдоें рддो рдЬा рдирд╣ीं рд╕рдХрддे, рд╕ो рдмेрдЪाрд░े рдШрд░ рдкрд░ рд╣ी рд╢ौрдХ  рдкूрд░ा рдХрд░ рд▓ेрддे рд╣ैं। рджो-рдЪाрд░ рдкैрдЧ рдоाрд░рдХрд░ рдорд╕्рдд рд╣ो рдЬाрддे рд╣ैं। рдФрд░ рдРрд╕े рдоाрд╣ौрд▓ рдоें рддुрдо рдЙрд╕рдХे рдкाрд╕ рдЪрд▓े рдЬाрдУрдЧे рддो рд░ंрдЧ рдоें рднंрдЧ рд╣ो рдЬाрдПрдЧा। рдЗрд╕рд▓िрдП рдХрд╣рддा рд╣ूं рдХि рднैрдпा, рд╢ाрдо рдХो  рдЙрд╕े  рдЯрдЪ рдордд рдХрд░рдиा।''

рдЕрдкрдиे  рд╢рд╣рд░ рдоें рднी рдРрд╕े рдЬीрд╡ों рдХी рднрд░рдоाрд░ рд╣ैं  рдЬिрди्рд╣ें рд╣рдо  рд╢ाрдо рдХो рдпा рд░ाрдд рдХो  рдЯрдЪ рдХрд░рдиा рдкрд╕ंрдж рдирд╣ीं рдХрд░рддे। рдХुрдЫ рд▓ोрдЧ рддो рджिрди рдоें рднी рдЯрдЪ рди рдХрд░рдиे рдХी  рд╕्рдеिрддि рдоें рдкाрдП рдЬाрддे рд╣ैं। рдпे рджाрд░ू рдЪीрдЬ рд╣ी -рдХुрдЫ рдРрд╕ी рдорд╕्рдд-рдорд╕्рдд рд╣ै рдХि  рдЬो рдкीрддा рд╣ै, рд╡рд╣ी рдЗрд╕рдХा  рдордЬा рдЬाрдирддा рд╣ै। рдпे рдоैं рдирд╣ीं рдХрд╣ рд░рд╣ा, рд╡े рд▓ोрдЧ рдкिрдпрдХ्рдХрдб़  рд╣ैं рдЬो рдкीрдиे рдХा рднрдпंрдХрд░ рдХिрд╕्рдо рдХा  рд╢ौрдХ  рдкाрд▓ рдЪुрдХे  рд╣ैं рдФрд░ рд╣рд░ рд╡рдХ्рдд 'рдордзुрд╢ाрд▓ा' рдХी  рдкंрдХ्рддिрдпाँ рджोрд╣рд░ाрддे рд╣ैं।
рдЙрд╕ рджिрди рдПрдХ рдкिрдпрдХ्рдХрдбрдЬ़ी рдоिрд▓ рдЧрдпे. рд╣рдордХो рджेрдЦा рддो рдЦिрд▓ рдЧрдП рдФрд░ рдмोрд▓े-  рдЪрд▓िрдП, рдЬाрдо рд╕े рдЬाрдо рдЯрдХрд░ा рд▓ें.''
рдоैंрдиे рдХрд╣ा- рдЯрдХрд░ाрдиे рд╕े рдбрд░ рд▓рдЧрддा рд╣ै рднाрдИ.  рдоुрдЭे рдоाрдл़ рдХрд░ो.'
рдкिрдпрдХ्рдХрдбрдЬ़ी рдмोрд▓े- ''рдХ्рдпा рддुрдордиे рдкрдв़ा рдирд╣ीं рдоंрджिрд░-рдорд╕्рдЬिрдж рдмैрд░ рдХрд░рддे, рдоेрд▓ рдХрд░рддी рдордзुрд╢ाрд▓ा। рдЕрд░े рдПрдХ рдмाрд░ рдкрдв़ рд▓ो. рдкीрдиे рд▓рдЧ рдЬाрдУрдЧे.''
рдоैं  рдХрд╣рддा рд╣ूं -''рдЬिрд╕ 'рдордзुрд╢ाрд▓ा' рдХी рдХрд╡िрддा рдЖрдк рд╕ुрдиा рд░рд╣े рд╣ैं рдЙрд╕рдХे рдХрд╡ि рдиे рдХрднी рд╢рд░ाрдм рдирд╣ीं рдкी।''
рдкिрдпрдХ्рдХрдбрдЬ़ी рдЙрдЦрдб рдЧрдП - ''рдЗрд╕ीрд▓िрдП рддो рдЙрд╕ 'рдордзुрд╢ाрд▓ा' рдоें рд╡ो рдмाрдд рдирд╣ीं рд╣ै рдЬो рд╣ोрдиी  рдЪाрд╣िрдП। рдЕрд░े, рдмिрдиा 'рдк्рд░ेрдХ्рдЯिрдХрд▓' рдХिрдпे рдЕрдЪ्рдЫे рдиंрдмрд░ рднी рдХрднी рдоिрд▓рддे рд╣ैं рднрд▓ा?''
рдоैंрдиे рдХрд╣ा- ''рдпे рд╢рд░ाрдм рдХा  рдирд╢ा рддो рдРрд╕ा рд╣ै рдмंрдзु рдХि  рдкीрдиे рдХे  рдмाрдж рдХुрдЫ рд╣ोрд╢ рднी рддो рд░рд╣े। рддрднी рддो рдХिрд╕ी  рдк्рд░ेрдХ्рдЯिрдХрд▓ рдЬ्рдЮाрди рдХी  рдк्рд░ाрдк्рддि рд╣ोрдЧी।''
рдкिрдпрдХ्рдХрдб़   рднाрдИ рдмोрд▓े- ''рдпे рднी рдаीрдХ рд░рд╣ рд░рд╣े рд╣ो। рд▓ेрдХिрди рдоैं рддो рд╕рдЪ-рд╕рдЪ рдХрд╣ рд░рд╣ा рд╣ूँ рдХि рдпे рдЪीрдЬ рдмрдб़ी рд╣ै рдорд╕्рдд-рдорд╕्рдд।''
рдЙрдирдХी  рдкंрдХ्рддि рдХो  рдоैंрдиे рдЖрдЧे рдмрдв़ाрддे рд╣ुрдП -рдХрд╣ा- 
''рдпे рдЪीрдЬ рдмрдб़ी рд╣ै рдорд╕्рдд-рдорд╕्рдд,
рдХрд░ рджेрддी рд╕рдм-рдХो рдд्рд░рд╕्рдд-рдд्рд░рд╕्рдд,
рд╣ो рдЬाрддा рдШрд░  рднी рдЕрд╕्рдд-рд╡्рдпрд╕्рдд,
рд╕्рд╡ाрд╕्рде्рдп  рднी рд░рд╣рддा рд▓рд╕्рдд-рдкрд╕्рдд।
рдпे рдЪीрдЬ рд╣ै рдРрд╕ी рдорд╕्рдд-рдорд╕्рдд।''
рдкिрдпрдХ्рдХрдб़  рдорд╣ाрд░ाрдЬ рдмोрд▓े- ''рддुрдо рд╣рдоाрд░े рд╢рд░ाрдм рд╕ंрдШ рдХे рдЖрджрдоी рдирд╣ीं рд╣ो, рдЬाрдУ рджुрдЧ्рдз-рдкाрди рдХрд░ो рдмाрд▓рдХ ।''
рдмाрдж рдоें рдкрддा рдЪрд▓ा рдХि рдпे рд╕рдЬ्рдЬрди рднी рдРрд╕े рд╣ैं рдХि рд▓ोрдЧрдмाрдЧ рдЗрди्рд╣ें рднी  рд╢ाрдо рдХो  'рдЯрдЪ' рдирд╣ीं рдХрд░рддे। рдРрд╕े рд▓ोрдЧों рдХी рд╕ंрдЦ्рдпा  рдмрдв़рддी рдЬा рд░рд╣ी рд╣ै рдЬो рд╢ाрдо рд╣ोрддे рд╣ी рдЖрдмрдХाрд░ी  рд╡िрднाрдЧ рдХी  рдЖрдп рдоें рд╡ृрдж्рдзि -рдХрд░рдиे рдкрд░ рддुрд▓ рдЬाрддे рд╣ैं। рдЗрд╕рдоें рдХुрдЫ рддो рдоौрдЬ-рдорд╕्рддी рд╡ाрд▓े рд╣ोрддे рд╣ैं, рддो рдХुрдЫ рдордЬрджूрд░ рднाрдИ рд╣ोрддे рд╣ैं рдЬो рд╕ोрдЪрддे рд╣ैं рдХि  рджाрд░ू рдкी рд▓ो, рдердХाрди рдЙрддрд░ рдЬाрддी рд╣ै। рдкрддा рдирд╣ीं рдХिрд╕ рдЪाрд▓ाрдХ рд╢рд░ाрдм рдаेрдХेрджाрд░ рдиे рдЙрдирдХे рджिрдоाрдЧ рдоें рдпрд╣  рдлिрдЯ рдХрд░  рджिрдпा рд╣ै. рдЬрдмрдХि  рдердХाрди рддो рдШрд░ рдкрд╣ुँрдЪ рдХрд░ рдкрд░िрд╡ाрд░ рдХे  рдмीрдЪ рдЬाрдиे рд╕े рд╡ैрд╕े рд╣ी рдЙрддрд░ рдЬाрддी рд╣ै। рдЬि़рджрдЧी рдХी  рдЖрдкाрдзाрдкी рдкрддрдЭрд░ рд╣ै рддो рдШрд░  рдПрдХ рдордзुрдоाрд╕ рд╣ै। рдФрд░ рдпे рджाрд░ू рдХ्рдпा  рд╣ै? рджुрд╖्рдпंрдд рдиे рдЦूрдм рдЕрдЪ्рдЫे  рд╕े рд╕рдордЭाрдпा рд╣ै-
рджिрди рднрд░ рдзूрдк рдХा  рдкрд░्рд╡рдд рдХाрдЯा,
рд╢ाрдо рдХो  рдкीрдиे рдиिрдХрд▓े рд╣рдо,
рдЬिрди рдЧрд▓िрдпों рдоें рдоौрдд рдмिрдЫी рдеी,
рдЙрдирдоें рдЬीрдиे рдиिрдХрд▓े рд╣рдо।''
рддो, рд╢ाрдо рдХो рдоौрдд рдХी  рдЧрд▓िрдпों рдоें рднрдЯрдХрдиे рд╡ाрд▓े рд▓ोрдЧों рдХी рд╕ंрдЦ्рдпा  рдмрдв़рддी рдЬा рд░рд╣ी рд╣ै। рдХुрдЫ рд▓ोрдЧ 'рдШрд░' рдоें, рдХुрдЫ рд▓ोрдЧ 'рдмाрд░' рдоें, рдЕрдм рддो рдЬो рдЬ्рдпाрджा 'рдоाрдбрд░्рди' рд╣ो рдЧрдП рд╣ै, рд╡े рд▓ोрдЧ 'рдкрд░िрд╡ाрд░'  рдоें рдкीрдиे рд▓рдЧे рд╣ैं..рдХुрдЫ рд▓ोрдЧ 'рдЕрдб्рдбे' рдоें рд╢ौрдХ  рдкूрд░ा рдХрд░рддे рд╣ैं। рдЖрдкрдХा рдХोрдИ рджोрд╕्рдд рдЕрдЧрд░ рдХिрд╕ी рдХे рдмाрд░े рдоें рдпрд╣ рдХрд╣े рдХि рдЙрд╕े рд╢ाрдо рдХो 'рдЯрдЪ' рдордд рдХрд░рдиा, рддो рдЖрдк рдеोрдб़ा-рд╕ा рдкुрди्рдп  рдЬрд░ूрд░ рдХрдоाрдПँ рдФрд░ рдЙрди्рд╣ें рдЯрдЪ рдХрд░ें рдФрд░ рд╕рдордЭाрдПँ рдХि рдЖрдк рджाрд░ू рдХो  рдЯрдЪ рди рдХрд░ें। рдХ्рдпोंрдХि рдпे рдЬрдм рд╢рд░ीрд░ рдХे рднीрддрд░ी рд╣िрд╕्рд╕े рдХो рдЯрдЪ рдХрд░рдиा рд╢ुрд░ू рдХрд░рддी рд╣ै рддो рд╢рд░ीрд░ 'рдмрдЪ' рдирд╣ीं рдкाрддा। рдФрд░ рд╣ाँ, рдЗрд╕ рдмाрдд рдХा рднी рдз्рдпाрди рд░рдЦें, рдХि рджाрд░ू рдЫुрдб़ाрдиे рдХे рдЪрдХ्рдХрд░ рдоें рдЦुрдж рднी рд╢рд░ाрдмी рди рдмрди рдЬाрдпे. рдоेрд░े рдПрдХ рдоिрдд्рд░ рдХे рд╕ाрде рдпрд╣ी рд╣ुрдЖ. рдЕрдм рдЙрдирдХा рджрд░ुрд╣ा рдоिрдд्рд░ рдЕрдкрдиे рдоिрдд्рд░ рдХी рд╢рд░ाрдм рдЫुрдб़ाрдиे рдХी рдХोрд╢िрд╢ рдХрд░ рд░рд╣ा рд╣ै.
рдоैं рдЖрдЬ рд╢ाрдо рдЕрдкрдиे рдоिрдд्рд░ рдЧрдкोрдб़ूрд░ाрдо рдХे рдШрд░ рдЬा рд░рд╣ा рд╣ूँ, рдЙрд╕े 'рдЯрдЪ' рдХрд░рдиे рдФрд░ рдЬाрдХрд░ рдмोрд▓ूँрдЧा-
рдЫोрдб़ рджे рдкीрдиा рдЫोрдб़ рд╢рд░ाрдмी,
рдмोрддрд▓ рдЕрдкрдиी рддोрдб़ рд╢рд░ाрдмी।
рдЬी рд▓े рдЬीрд╡рди рдХो рдорд╕्рддी рд╕े,
рдоौрдд рд╕े рд▓े рдордд рд╣ोрдб़ рд╢рд░ाрдмी।

рд▓ेрдХिрди рд╕рд╕ुрд░े  рдкिрдпрдХ्рдХрдб़ рдмोрддрд▓ рдХे рдЕрд▓ाрд╡ा рдХिрд╕ी рдХी рд╕ुрдирддे рднी рдирд╣ीं рд╣ैं рди.