Kazi Nazrul Islam

(24 May 1899 - 29 August 1976 / Bardhaman / India)

The Epic Hero Sabyasachi - Poem by Kazi Nazrul Islam

Behold, we are saved! There moves
the sky that had so long been obstructed
by a Himalayan Peak!
From underneath the snow on the
highest peak of the Himalayas awaketh
Sabyasachi,
Across the gloom of the Dwaper age
awaketh the great eremite,
Awaketh the great herb of the Mahabharata,
Sayeth: 'I am come! '
Lo! The ethereal firmament of old
doth dance in the jocund streams
of New Life!
Awaketh across the undiscovered
Exile of awful time, Partha the Epic Hero:
His Gandiva Bow is bathed in
dazzling red hue!
The Panchajanya trumpet doth blow,
The chariot and horses are ready,
The fighters give the war-cry,
The forests are tempest-tossed.
The Pandemonium itself is agitated,
In the cradle doth smile life enamoured
of Death!
In every age get a hew lease of life
the vanquished forces of Evil,
They are bondsmen of Duryodhana,
hired hell-hounds of Dushashana!
On the bloody fields of Lanka
and Kurukshetra,
In the greedy eyes of the demon
of avarice,
On the scaffold, in the
whipping Prison house,
These emissaries of Satan are
well-known!
Is it the idea that no body shall
have to pay the penalty for it?
Nemesis turns full circle!
Today the highest, tomorrow the lowest:
Today a victor, tomorrow a victim:
In a cottage is born the King's antagonist;
Within the prison walls of a Tyrant Kansa
is born his future Killer:
Nrisingha the Redeemer bursts
out of the breast which is
kicked by the Tyrant:.
Today they humiliate a man,
Tomorrow they call him Father:
One who is held in perpetual
duress suddenly becomes worthy
of praise by all countries:
Hark the trumpet sound!
Sankar awakes, apprehensions are gone!
There wails Sita the fortune of
Bharata in her captivity within
the walls of Lanka!
And before her eyes shall burn
tomorrow the funeral pyre
of Ravana!
In every age doth come under an
ever-new flag the great warrior,
And Eternal god acts as his Charioteer!
In every age is revealed the Gita
to redeem from tyranny the just
cause of a Pandava army!
Whenever a Sate, symbolical of
freedom, gives away her
life on the great Sacrifice of Daksha,
where there is no Siva, the
result is that the 'head of a
Prajapati falls under the mighty
stroke of a Siva's scimitar!
Behold, Falgooni doth come to
initiate all into new mantras!
Wake! Arise! Ye Youths,
Sleep no more under the
Spell of a false message of Peace!
Many a Dadhichi gave his bones,
Yet the creation is not empty of
the demons!
By weaving yam we want to achieve
freedom, and bide our time!
Gird up your loins, Ye Youths,
We are getting paralyzed under
the fakse promise of a handloom!
By thy right hand tear off the
fetters and by thy left let go
the arrow, O warrior of the age,
and appear in thy own splendour
in this land of unarmed Prisoners!
We worshipped and got a plantain:
So, we invoke thee, O great hero!
Have the holder of the chakra in
the seat of the charioteer:
We, votaries of Truth, can no longer
stand the massacre of Truth!
After having killed a mosquito,
the gun thunders - 'I have Killed revolution.'
Our right hands are hand-cuffed,
our left hands kill flies.
We obey a multiplicity of superstitions
and thus survive with a tuft of hair
on our head and an ancient heard!
Thus surviving we are about to die,
O Sabyasachi! Give us something
so that we may die and live!

[Translation: Abdul Hakim]


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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, May 29, 2012

Poem Edited: Tuesday, May 29, 2012


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