Aimless, Meaning, Nature and Pretence (English translation)
This is an English translation of my earlier Hindi post अनर्गल, आशय, प्रकृति और पाखंड. The poem is by Kunwar Narain; the Hindi and English are placed side by side below.
They say, “Where the sun cannot reach, the poet does.” What was in the mind of a poet when he wrote a meaningful poem is, for an ordinary person like me, only a matter of guesswork. This attempt to share my understanding is no more than an attempt.
| हिन्दी | English |
|---|---|
| घर रहेंगे, हमीं उनमें रह न पाएँगे, समय होगा, हम अचानक बीत जाएँगे। अनर्गल ज़िंदगी ढोते किसी दिन हम, एक आशय तक पहुँच सहसा बहुत थक जाएँगे। |
The houses will remain; it is we who will not live in them. Time will remain; we will suddenly pass away. Dragging some unwelcome life along, one day, having reached a meaning, we will suddenly grow very tired. |
| मृत्यु होगी खड़ी सम्मुख राह रोके, हम जगेंगे यह विविधता, स्वप्न, खो के। और चलते भीड़ में कंधे रगड़ कर हम, अचानक जा रहे होंगे कहीं सदियों अलग होके। |
Death will stand before us, blocking the road; we will wake, having lost this variety, these dreams. And walking through the crowd, rubbing shoulders, we will suddenly be going somewhere, parted for centuries. |
| प्रकृति और पाखंड के ये घने लिपटे, बँटे, ऐंठे तार— जिनसे कहीं गहरा, कहीं सच्चा, मैं समझता—प्यार। |
These thickly twisted strands of nature and pretence, split apart and knotted – something deeper than these, something truer, is what I take to be love. |
| मेरी अमरता की नहीं देंगे ये दुहाई, छीन लेगा इन्हें हमसे देह-सा संसार। राख-सी साँझ, बुझे दिन की घिर जाएगी, वही रोज़ संसृति का अपव्यय दुहराएगी। |
They will not plead for my immortality; the world, like the body, will snatch them from us. An ash-grey evening of a spent day will close in, and repeat the same daily waste of the cycle of birth and rebirth. |
Kunwar Narain wrote this poem, perhaps in 1959. I am only a reader. Kunwar ji was from Faizabad and I am from neighbouring Gorakhpur. But I read this poem only the day before yesterday. In a few months I will enter the ninth decade of my life.
I have been a retired man for many years now. Apart from household chores, I have no work left. I read, write, do things around the house, take walks, sleep, take my medicines and make rounds of hospitals. I am a senior citizen now. In the last two years I have made many trips to hospitals. I have time, plenty of time, but for how long? One day time will remain and I will suddenly pass away. The houses will remain too, but I will not be able to live in them. The poet has made a poem out of a simple, ordinary fact.
I do not know why, but these lines appealed to me. This poem, which makes one think, touched my heart the first time I read it. Like everyone, I am drawing its meaning in my own way. My reflection is still going on. Anyway, I am trying to share my understanding so far.
Aimless (अनर्गल) and meaning (आशय)
“The houses will remain; it is we who will not live in them.
Time will remain; we will suddenly pass away.
Dragging some unwelcome life along, one day,
having reached a meaning, we will suddenly grow very tired.”
Taking the two lines together, I think two words matter: “anargal” and “aashay”. If we stop and think, life sometimes seems “anargal”, and sometimes very good. Whatever it is, we carry its burden. Why? To find the meaning, the aashay, of life? Or just to go on living?
I do not fully understand why we carry the burden of life. But I do understand that life seems dear at times and unpleasant at other times. Is the purpose of life to look for the meaning of life? Long ago I read somewhere, “The purpose of life is to find meaning in life!”
The word “anargal” means unpleasant or undesirable. It is used for something we consider unsuitable or not good, to say that an action or a situation is not right.
“Aashay” means the meaning or intent of a thought, belief or purpose. Put differently, “aashay” is the reflection of a person’s thoughts, feelings and wishes, which shows in his actions and behaviour. But a question arises in my mind: does “aashay” here mean purpose or meaning?
Seen this way, if after much effort in carrying the burden of life we do find the “aashay” of life, perhaps the poet is saying that we suddenly feel tired. But why?
Variety, dreams
Death will stand before us, blocking the road;
we will wake, having lost this variety, these dreams.
And walking through the crowd, rubbing shoulders,
we will suddenly be going somewhere, parted for centuries.
A line I heard long ago came to mind:
“Life is an endless journey; when we reach the destination, it has moved ahead.”
Is death the end of life? Or is death not the end, only a halt, the beginning of a new life? Where, when, how? Tell me, does anyone know? It may be that there is no beginning of a new life either. But if it is a halt before a new beginning, then the life left behind will seem like a dream. When we face death, as on waking from sleep, this world, this dream, will break.
The destination will have moved ahead. If the journey of life goes on, it must begin again, another journey to look for the meaning or aashay of life. Keep moving, keep moving… Charaiveti, charaiveti.
“In truth, to stop in one place is itself Kali.” “Kali is the one who sleeps, Dvapara the one who stirs, Treta the one who stands up, and Satya the one who moves. Keep moving, keep moving.” (Aitareya Brahmana 33.3). The meaning is that the age of sleep is called Kali: one who lies in deep sleep is living in Kali Yuga. The age of stretching is Dvapara. One who wakes fully and stands up is in Treta. But one who walks is a resident of Satya Yuga.
Only he who is always moving, who is dynamic, lives in Satya Yuga. So, if you wish, you can turn even Kali Yuga into Satya Yuga through constant effort. All that is needed is to keep walking without stopping. That is why: keep walking, keep walking, charaiveti, charaiveti! (Click here to read in detail.)
Nature and pretence
These thickly twisted strands of nature and pretence,
split apart and knotted –
something deeper than these, something truer,
is what I take to be love.
Here two words are important: “prakriti” (nature) and “pakhand” (pretence).
The ordinary meaning of prakriti is temperament. Another meaning is the force that gives rise to, preserves and destroys all the elements of creation. Prakriti is a creative force devoted to creation and preservation, whereas pakhand is a religious or moral delusion, a lie, or deceit. Pakhand can also be the result of a person’s or a community’s inaction, fraud or delusions.
The concept of Prakriti and Purusha is also described in Sankhya Yoga. But in my understanding, there is no attempt here to say anything on that concept.
In my understanding, the poet is speaking here of love. Love is a feeling that rises from the heart. Love is a natural disposition. But love can also be pretence. And love can even be a mixture of love and pretence (a lie, deceit). Perhaps the poet is pointing to this: a love that is natural disposition and a pretence that is show.
It is hard to tell true love from false love. Both nature (temperament) and pretence are thickly twisted, split and knotted, and it is difficult to get a feel of the truth.
The waste of the cycle of birth and rebirth (संसृति का अपव्यय)
They will not plead for my immortality;
the world, like the body, will snatch them from us.
An ash-grey evening of a spent day will close in,
and repeat the same daily waste of the cycle of birth and rebirth.
A living being’s longing for immortality is the peak of hope. What happens when the life principle, the soul or the life-giving force separates from the body? The body remains, just as after death the body stays here like the world. And the life-giving force goes away. The phrase “the world like the body” fits well. The body is a part of the world only as long as the life-giving force flows in it.
I thought “sansriti” meant creation. I doubted it. When I looked in the dictionary I found many meanings and explanations. In one place I found the word sansriti used by Goswami ji (Tulsidas) in a verse: “Deva paay santaap ghan chhor sansriti deen bhramat jag yoni nahin kopi traata (8).” That is: in this frightening world full of sin and sorrow I wander, helpless, through the eighty-four lakh forms of birth, and there is no one to save me. O Bhairava form, O Rudra in the form of Rama, you alone are my kinsman, teacher, mother, father and creator. Protect me.
To me, the meaning of sansriti in this poem seems to be “the tradition of taking birth after birth”, the coming and going in the wheel of existence.
The waste of sansriti? Perhaps “the waste of sansriti” means the futility of the coming and going from birth to birth.
Who, and how, makes this cycle of coming and going futile? The soul itself? Or someone else? It is something to think about.
A blog on Kunwar Narain’s poems is available at this link.
Postscript: Today, 13-11-2024, I came across a post on Instagram that reflects the feelings expressed in the article above and touched my heart. I am sharing it.
English translation prepared with the help of Grok, an AI assistant.