A SAINT'S DIARY ... 1

I feel a great austerity dawning on my soul as I drift into the river of God. I feel a wonderful freedom --- freedom from the cares of the world, freedom from the shackles of life, freedom from the bondage of the body. There is a repose in me far from the hustle of life where no one raises the dust of desire besetting me. I feel a tranquillity that soothes, a transcendence that seems an altered reality and an unearthly peace that settles the warring forces within me to relocate me in the innocence of infancy, of a variant hue, of a higher order. Boundless am I, perfect am I, infinitude is my status among the finities of the world.

This life is a passing dream, a career of inconsequence, a plaything for the soul. Who knows what awaits, who cares to know? Life lingers on awaiting deliverance from the forces that forge it. In the fullness of the season of bloom shall efflorescence be and then the fruition of love for the withering of this world like a tale told in a void that never was. This paradox predominates the plurality of suppositions and must wither away when knowledge dawns of the essence of things. Then the vision clears and the Self is seen as the immutable being, eternal, solitary, the One without a possible second, lonesome beyond repair, the imperishable reality, the ground of all existence, Existence itself.

On the verge of such a shore am I standing while the billows keep lashing against the rocks that guard the citadels of consciousness, the frothy edges of the waves keep kissing the sands of time. I wonder what it is to be free after all this terrestrial dream, this horrible nightmare of a ghoulish existence when every impulse tends towards captivity within the confines of this finite form and lends immeasurable suffering to the soul. What will be the release like, whither am I bound when boundless I am?

The mood of the moment encompasses all of time as I behold the panoramic existence of colour and light through the mist of Maya but yet discern that all this is unreal in eventual terms. I stand gazing on the infinite stretch of the beyond from the interface of life with a drifting appreciation of all that has been and all that may yet perchance for the future is unknown even to the discerning soul till final freedom squashes it all to a point of gravitating end when Maya disappears in a final act of self-delusion and the Self is revealed in all its majesty or perhaps not.

Right now the ripples surface and dissolve in an unceasing stream of quasi-consciousness where truth and untruth play about in the haze of inwardness tending to illumination that waits in the wings of the theatre that life is. I hang on with it, for that which is mine may not be denied me and liberation is the life to be even as bondage drops off forever. Om! 

JEEBON 1

Manushya jeeboney abiram sangram paristhitir shathey, utpeeronkari prokritir biruddhey juddha, bohirprokriti o antarprokriti, ja amader dasatya sringkhaley aboddho rekechhey. Ei utpeeron otikrom korte hobe, ei dasatya dur korte hobe, ei domon hotey nirmukta korte hobe nijeder jodi swiyoswadhinata punoruddhar korte hoy bastuto ja amader sahajato anantasattwaa. Adhikangshoi kintu emonee indriyograhya bishoye emonee neshagrasta je tnara bodh e korte paren na je tnara karmasringkhaley aboddho, poradheen, nirantar karmer ashta pashey aboddho ja hotey mukti duruho. Bhromatmobuddhitey tai amra itostoto bichoron kori kintu dukkha kashto jwara byadhi eraatey pari na. Krome amader jaubaner apaato swadhinata bhoger progolbhotar prayoshchitta korte hoy o prokriti tnar bichaarer saja shonan --- mrityadanda. Jeeboner opor aksmat jabanika patan hoy, ek chhatraakaar jeeboner apurna adhyayer sushamaheen porisamapti. Indriyoporobosh hoye eibhabe, janmo hotey janmantarey cholechhi amra, lokshyoheen satirtha, Mayar dwara prohrito, protarito, tobu amaratwer supto anubhutir dwara anuronito ja amader probuddho kore keerti, jnan o shaktir aasprihar madhyomey kintu nirantar baasonar samudrasaliley sthiti na pay. Atmajnan lupto hoy mohomorichikar indrajaaley o chaturghurnaney jeebon porjudusto hoy budbudsamo ashantasagarey jetha kshanmatro-astitwa pheynil deher. Ehyano astitwa amader, probol propritir hastey bondi kintu jnake baidik Hindura Adyaashaktirupe chinhito korechhen, sarbabastur niyonta jini.

LIFE 1

Human life is a constant battle against circumstances, a veritable war against oppressive Nature, external and internal, holding us down to be her bondmen. This oppression must be overcome, this servility given up, this dominance thwarted as we struggle to regain our lost freedom, our inherent status of infinitude. Most of us are so intoxicated with the wine of fleeting sensory pleasures that we fail to even recognise that we are, after all, in captivity to consequence where the incessant flow of work binds us in fetters with apparently no hope of breaking free. So, in delusion we drift but cannot escape pain, misery, sorrow or disease as we are brought to book for our earlier misadventures into a supposed sensory freedom and handed out the standard penalty of death. Thus, our life's saga ends for the while abruptly and imperfectly, an inharmonious end to a dispersed living. Bound to the senses, in this way, we travel from life to life, pilgrims without purpose, hounded by Maya, haunted by a secret sense of immortality that manifests itself as an aspiration for achievement, knowledge and power but cannot find repose in a sea of ceaseless desires. Knowledge of our spiritual Self is lost in a maze of myriad mirages and we are buffeted by the four winds to live, a bubble in a swirling sea with as much endurance as frothy form permits. Thus, we are, held to ransom by a tyrannous force we call Nature but which the Hindus of Vedic lore identified as the Spirit, the mover of things.

DEWDROPS 1-10

He who shares, cares;
He who cares, shares.

Who loves the most, lives the most,

For all of life is threaded in love.

The cosmos is held in love divine.

A kind word may save a life;

A life saved may save the world.

Sleep covers up consciousness

But divine dreams awake one

To the One within.

The hours of toil

Will be the hours of fruition.

Let us daily die

To infuse life into the masses.

The poor are divinities on earth;

Serving them is the highest worship.

The surface-whirl is Maya.

Dive deeper to behold the beloved.

God is
Where time is not.

WORTH A WHILE

There is a terrible erosion of ideals today all over the world. Materialism has reared its ugly head once more. It is time now to go back to Vivekananda and manifest character to save the world from impending disaster.

The sesquicentennial celebrations of Swamiji may be over but the work carries on. The Ramakrishna Mission is carrying on the welfare activities initiated by it then with the help of funds received from the Government of India on the occasion of the 150th year celebration. Massive projects have been undertaken for the uplift of the people of India in selected zones and need a perpetual inflow of funds for the maintenance of the projects. Devotees of the Mission, do come forward and help the cause along with liberal contributions from your side. It will conduce to the well-being of the nation. Jai Hind! Jai Ramakrishna!

THE POLGARS

Judit Polgar, the highest-rated woman chess player of all time who never participated in a woman's chess tournament but battled it out against all odds against the formidable male players of her times, the likes of Kasparov, Anand, Kramnik and Karpov and so often emerged successful from the contest. A Jewish-Hungarian by birth, Judit, along with her sisters Susan and Sofia, remains an inspiration to all aspiring women chess players and, why, so many male chess players as well.

Judit followed Sofia, an International Master in chess, and Susan, the eldest of the three Polgar sisters, who was the first woman to qualify as a classical chess Grandmaster, the fruition of a unique experiment in training genius, conducted by their father Laszlo Polgar, a trained psychologist, who had theorised that genuis could be the product of efficient diligence and it was not necessarily a feature attained by birth.

THE GIRL WHO IS THE GLORY OF INDIA

Saina Nehwal has proved that the Chinese are not invincible as their poker face seems to suggest. They are as vulnerable as the rest of the world, only they follow an agenda which is purely political in nature and ought to be debunked as anything intrinsically substantial in them. Saina reigns supreme as India's badminton hope along with the rising stars, P.V. Sindhu and Srikanth Kidambi. The whole nation ought to back them in their superlative sporting endeavours. Only then will we be exhibiting patriotism proper to inspire a new generation of badminton stars who will rock the citadels of the badminton barons of China, Japan, Indonesia, Malaysia, Denmark, USA, Spain, Sweden and the like. May Saina recover fast from her surgical ordeal and take to her position in the court! God bless you Saina, you have made our tricolour fly high!