IN APPRECIATION OF SHARMISTHA CHATTERJEE'S BEAUTIFUL POEM ON THE OCCASION OF 'INTERNATIONAL WOMEN'S DAY'

IN APPRECIATION OF SHARMISTHA CHATTERJEE'S BEAUTIFUL POEM ON THE OCCASION OF 'INTERNATIONAL WOMEN'S DAY'

'Not two but with a thousand hands' -- this deification of woman and the primeval energy manifesting through her form could pass into the English language as a quotable quote. And, indeed, it is, now I realise. Bankimchandra says so in Vandemataram. 'Disaptakoti bhujaidhritakharakarabaaley ... দ্বিসপ্তকোটীভুজৈধৃতখরকরবালে ...'. But your idea is freshly conceived for all are the conduits of the Divine and inspiration comes through in the form of words and images through the minds of all in so far they are capable of feeling its pulse and expressing it in tangible terms. But the original impulse is from antiquity in some remotest times when an ancient poet like the modern Bankimchandra Chatterjee or today's Sharmistha Chatterjee may have conceived it and given utterance to this synthesis of the Divine and the human, the Cosmic Mother and the earthly mother.

That history ever repeats itself is an oft-quoted saying but is not too often understood in its deeper philosophical connotation. The same truth which is the foundation of the universe is the basis for the individual as well. Herein the microcosm and the macrocosm meet, arms locked in holy embrace where the germ of creation passes through from the infinite to to the finite inscrutably along its interface that seemingly separates the absolute from the phenomenal. Mother expresses Herself through Her myriad forms in a myriad manner, controlling Her boundless energy to make way for Her magic manifestation in limited material terms. And, yet, the connections to roots are not cut and when the earthly mother in her multidimensional moods and manners, in her cares and controls, exhibits that element of her limitless maternal love, the Divine Mother is reflected in her as her umbilical source.

A fair endeavour of yours, Sharmistha, in times of declining culture when we ought to go back to what our mother had taught us, babes in her arms seeking the divine data in terrestrial terms, in caress, in kiss, in loving embrace that enfolded us with the liquid delight of immortality which in due course we must recover as we meander through the labyrinth of life.

Written by Sugata Bose