Sayan Ghosh
With sacred hands, he bore the indigo lotus,
offering it upon the golden lotus seat.
Raghava, sovereign of Madhuban,
gathered the fairest stalks with reverence,
adorning them in divine devotion.
As a lotus bereft of nectar shivers at dawn,
so too did the heavens,
where birds soared in trembling flight,
scattering melodies of arrival
across the boundless horizon.
The trees, their leafy hands uplifted,
whispered in the hush of autumn’s breath,
as if dust from anklets of celestial maidens
danced unseen in the tranquil air.
Champaka, chameli, tender buds and blossoms,
the fragrant garlands of nagakesara and juhi,
all lay entranced, swaying in rapture—
drenched in the fragrance of the goddess’s coming.
Wave upon wave, a tremor arose,
as if the soul itself rippled like a sacred lake.
Within gardens of celestial bloom,
where Krishna’s touch lingers still,
the cuckoo wove an endless song,
a melody vast as eternity.
O the resounding jubilation!
Unparalleled splendor!
Autumn’s golden goddess,
peerless Tilottama,
adorned in celestial grace,
descended upon the earth.
Upon lotus-laden waters,
beneath a sky adorned in silvered mist,
the royal swans, entwined in playful embrace,
drifted upon love’s boundless tide.
A breeze, slow and solemn,
stirred the sacred groves.
Leaves quivered, as if fleeting visions
of divinity danced before mortal eyes.
The forest, unbridled, revelled in ecstasy,
its wild bloom kissed by light divine,
where honey-drunken bees
wove their murmurous hymns—
ah, what rapture!
O Mother! What divine sport is this?
Goddess of the Universe, consort of Hara,
graceful in form, supreme among deities,
daughter of the mountain-lord!
O Parvati, Mahagauri,
sweetest of voices, eternal and radiant!
Through dense groves, Rama entered,
seeking to awaken the Divine One,
to vanquish the ten-headed terror.
From the clay of Utkala, he molded her image,
his gaze trembling with unshed tears,
his heart swept away in boundless joy,
as the hymns of devotion rose.
"O Guardians of the Earth!
O Celestial Beings, protectors of realms!
Rise, rise to this sacred rite,
let no force hinder this great invocation.
O Primordial One, sanctify this solemn vow.
May my devotion awaken the goddess,
who slumbers, veiled in autumn’s hush.
O Three-Eyed, Ten-Armed One,
descending from realms unseen,
accept my worship, Mother!
I invoke Thee,
in this untimely season,
for war beckons, and the demon-lord stands unyielding.
Awaken now, O Mahamaya!
To Thee, my thoughts, my soul,
to Thee, I surrender all—
the throne of kings, the glories of lineage.
O Goddess of War,
slayer of Mahishasura!
Strike now,
let the rakshasa fall before Thy might!"
In delighted whispers,
forest-nymphs murmured to the gentle creepers—
"O King, what grand summons is this?
Behold, the blossoms,
in rapturous devotion,
rise in waves of joy,
filling the heavens with their fragrance.
Monkeys, sacred and pure,
stir the forest in haste,
adorning its splendor anew—
but tell us, O Prince, for whom do you kneel?
Whose divine dust shall grace this hallowed grove?
Whose coming shrouds the earth in trembling wonder?
What celestial maiden
walks today among these woodland halls?"
From veiled repose,
the blooming lotus stirred—
autumn’s throne, radiant with Kash blooms,
shone beneath a vast sky,
where silken clouds wove a silver canopy.
The heavens, adorned,
hummed in ceaseless motion,
like the tresses of a celestial bride,
tossed in restless anticipation.
O Beauty Unbound!
What quill has scripted this day?
A thousand rivers weep in joyous flood,
yet somewhere,
hidden in this grand design,
strife lingers still,
like poison in the nectar’s tide.
O Mother! Then tell me,
why does Ravana, the demon-lord,
yet defy the heavens?
The wisdom of three realms,
held in the palm of his hand,
yet he sways, drunk with arrogance,
drenched in the pride of his own might.
A scholar, a warrior,
a lord of untold strength—
yet today, my sorrow
is wrought by him alone.
My robe is damp with tears,
my cries drown in the holy river—
yet, across the ocean’s roar,
death’s call rises in unrelenting tide.
Tell me, Mother,
can tears cleanse fate’s decree?
Does the sacred Ganga embrace the Yamuna’s sorrow?
With an anguished heart,
Rama turned to Lakshmana,
his voice laid bare in grief:
"O Night, devourer of joy!
Cruel mistress of fate!
What dark illusion
has shrouded my soul in sorrow?
Does Sita languish still,
in that wretched city of Lanka,
enduring pain unknown?
Ah, cruel fate!
What sin of mine
has woven this web of suffering,
this curse upon my soul?"
O Goddess!
Moon-eyed, sweet-voiced,
Ten-Armed One!
In Thy golden veil,
peace glows like a beacon,
gracing the weary heart
with Thy sacred hymn.
O Mother!
To Thee, I offer my all,
cast at Thy lotus feet.
Let Ayodhya’s gardens bloom once more,
let the rakshasa line perish,
root and stem.
Before Thee, this vow I take—
thus, on this sixth morn of autumn,
I awaken Thee,
in untimely worship,
for war awaits.
(Composed in the year 2012)
Note: When Rama saw that one of the 108 blue lotuses was missing from his offering to Goddess Durga, he was deeply troubled. Determined to complete his prayer, he decided to offer one of his own eyes, as they were often compared to lotuses. As he drew his arrow to pluck out his eye, cause he was called Padma Lochan—"one with lotus-like eyes." Goddess Durga, moved by his unwavering devotion, appeared before him and stopped him. She blessed him, saying his faith had surpassed all tests, and from that moment. This tale, added by Poet Krittivas Ojha in the Bengali Ramayana, highlights Rama’s supreme devotion and self-sacrifice.
%20%E2%80%A2%20Instagram%20photos%20and%20videos.jpeg)
.jpg)
