History of Bengali Language and Literature c10.s2: III. Poetry of rural Bengal

History of Bengali Language and Literature c10.s2

Language: English

III. Poetry of rural Bengal

Let us pass from the city to the village. The villages of Bengal, half a century ago, were the abodes of peace, of love and of devotion. The vices of the towns stamped the literature of the courts degrading it to wicked sensualism; the vain pedantry of scholars introduced into it erudite absurdities of far-fetched imagery; non-Hindu ideas found favour with the citizens, directly under the influence of an alien civilisation. But the quiet Hindu was not in his element in the city. His true home lay in the village; there, under the canopy of the blue sky, on which the gay seasons of our tropical clime present in succession their ever-shifting array of scenes, the Hindu had found leisure for centuries to ponder over the deeper problems of life; undisturbed he devoted himself to interpreting the texts of the çāstras like some Epicurean god sitting over his nectar—careless of mankind. Political squabbles rent the life of cities; kings were dethroned, and new flags were unfurled in ancient capitals; but a change of government did not affect the conditions of life of a Hindu village.

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Long distance separates these villages of Bengal from the seething life of political centres. These homes of the people are counted sacred by reason of the noble rivers on whose banks they stand,—the rushing Ganges, the ever-white Dhaleçwari, the foaming Padmā, the furious Dāmodara, the great Brahmaputra, the dark-watered Meghna, and many others that branch themselves into a hundred streams to flow to the sea, keeping up a never ceasing music by their murmurs. How do these villages adorn themselves with gardens, through whose green foliage peep the scarlet *java*, the white *kunda*, and the crescent-shaped yellow *atasi*,—gardens where the sacred *bel* and *nimba* trees rustle in the breeze the long summer day! There from thick groves of mango and jack, starts suddenly spire-like to view, the tall Bengali *devadaru* rising above the majestic *asvattha*—far beyond the tiara-shaped domes of temples. Here, under the sacred *tulasi* plant, the lamp is lighted at even-fall and the brow marked with vermilion bows down to leave its scarlet traces at the root. Here the sound of the evening conch summons the villagers to the temple; while on the edge of the meadow the cows stand quietly waiting the call of the shepherds to lead them to the shed; and the *madhavi* creepers, rich with the treasure of the spring, diffuse their fragrance as the weary pilgrim approaches his earthly paradise, his straw-roofed mud-hovel. From these same simple Bengali homes sprang the Navya Nyāya—the logical system of modern Bengal—which some of us hold to be the greatest achievement of the pure intellect in modern times. In these villages the poems of Vālmiki and Vyāsa, of Kalidās and Bhababhuti have, for hundreds of years, cast the spell of their beauty upon the people. In them the lofty principles of Vedanta philosophy have been taught by Brahmins who realised that man was one with the universe,—a flute through which might sound the whole music of god's kingdom,—and that his greatest good lay in returning to the consciousness of his oneness with the Supreme Principle. These Bengali villages are hallowed above all by the wonderful sacrifices of the *satis*, and their heroic death on the funeral pyres of their husbands, when, with a gentle wave of the hand from the midst of flames, they would often indicate a wish to hear the name of god recited at the last moment. Here in Bengal the renunciation of Buddha has been practised by princes from age to age, by Dīpaṅkara Sri Jñana of Eastern Bengal—by Gopi Chānd of the Pāl dynasty, by Narottama of Kheturi, by Raghunātha Dās of Sātgaon, and in our modern times by the saintly Lālā Babu of Pāikpārā, all of whom left their worldly glory, and went forth, beggar's bowl in hand, caring for naught but the highest truth vouchsafed to man. Here the dynasty of the ancient *risies* and seers of the Vedanta Philosophy remains unbroken to the present day in the person of Ram Kriṣṇa Paramhaṅsa, who exemplified self forgetful divine love in the eyes of men now living. These villages of Bengal should not be taken for the homes of men like Mirzāfar, Umichānd and Nanda Kumāra,—political intriguers, trained in courts to heinous vices revolting to the nature of a rural people. Fifty years ago the one great fear of Hindu parents in Bengal was lest their sons should take the vow of the Sannyasin. They would not allow them even to sit on a *kusasana*,—a seat which was generally used by Sadhus. Since the time of Buddha, renunciation in the cause of the highest truth has been no idle dream, no will-o'-the-wisp theory, amongst Hindus. It is a goal towards which the whole Indian civilisation has continued to move, even as Western civilisation moves towards patriotism, and against political serfdom.

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Renunciation, the goal of Hindu-life.

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The homes of Bengal have even been seed-beds of high thought. The control of the passions, the mastery over self, the training of the mind to concentration and yoga—till it can reach the state of final beatitude—are aims which have engrossed the energy of our people; and Hindus have never been afraid of privation, pain or sacrifice to reach this goal. They have sought a revelation of god within the soul,—the highest aim that can attract a mortal. A certain mystery enshrouds those who scale the greatest heights; but the Yoga Philosophy is a system which enables a man to arrive at a definite realisation, and those who would cry it down must first study the vast literature which has gathered round the subject, and understand what is really meant.

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The home life of Bengal has been best expressed in its songs. In these, one may find out all he wants to know about the Bengali people. They are as thoroughly Indian as the *kunda* flowers of the soil; and many of them spring from sincere souls as tributes to god, even as *kunda* flowers are offered by Brahmin to Viṣṇu. From the highest truths of Yoga down to the pettiest concerns of daily life, every point that touches our aims, our ideas and our manner of life is embodied in these songs. Many of them have been composed by saints like Rāma Prasāda and Fikir Cānd, which no one who is not an adept in Yoga, can well understand. Those on Dehatattva, or the spiritual principles governing the human body, are too abstract for laymen. Their language is not difficult, but they offer points of perplexity because they illustrate an experience of which we know too little.

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The Songs.

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Grouped in four classes.

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Bengali songs may be grouped in main four classes :— I. The *kirtana* songs to which we have already aluded, II. The songs of the *kaviwallas*, III. Religious songs, IV. The songs of the *yatras* or the popular drama.

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(a)—*Kaviwallas* and their Songs.

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Dāṇḍa Kavis.

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Let us begin with the second of these groups, *viz.*, the songs of the *kaviwallas*. The *kaviwallas* were parties of minstrels who sang songs mainly descriptive of incidents in the life of Kṛṣṇa. Their party consisted of men and women who stood and sang in chorus. They were for this reason called Dāṇḍa-kavis or the standing minstrels. Their leader generally composed songs relating to the love of Rādhā and Kṛṣṇa or to domestic scenes in Kailās—the abode of Çiva and his consort Umā. Latterly a good deal of competition arose amongst different *kaviwallas*. Çambhu Chandra, a son of Rājā Kṛṣṇa Chandra of Navadwipa, about the time of the battle of Plassey, began to organise professional bands of *kaviwallas*, and a new element was introduced into their songs. The chief singer of one party, as a sequel to his own songs, would begin to compose extempore verses attacking the leader of the opposite party who would next occupy the stage. The latter would not be slow to make a retort at the end of his songs, and the seething satire and gross vulgarity which came to characterise these fights of the *kaviwallas* evoked a most animated interest from city audience. But this corrupting influence was, comparatively speaking, absent from the performances of village *kaviwallas*.

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Attacks on rival parties.

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The *kavi* songs had originally constituted parts of old *yatras* or popular plays. The simple episodes in the *yatras*, especially those of the nature of light opera, were in course of time wrought into a separate class of songs, which were sung by these distinct bodies of professional bards called *kaviwalas*, whose domain was thus completely severed from that of the *yatra* parties. The *kaviwalas* used the musical instrument called the *madala* to mark time in their songs. The notes of the *madala* were lighter than those of the grave *khol* which was used by *yatras* and *kirtana* parties.

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The origin of the kavi songs.

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The earliest *kaviwala* about whom information has been obtained was Raghu, a cobbler who flourished in the 17th century. The low caste of this singer shows that the institution was based upon the amusement of the rustics. Gradually the higher classes came to take an interest in it. But the chief audiences of the *kaviwalas* have always consisted mainly of illiterate rural people. Alas, these songs are heard no more in Bengal! The death-knell of this institution, once so popular, was sounded by the new Bengali drama influenced by European models; and though the *yatras* still exist, they are only like ghosts of their former selves. We miss the national tone in them. Our *Yatrawalas* now mimic the modern theatres. They can not afford the costs of making a stage or purchasing scenery, hence they generally hold their performances in temporary sheds, raised for the occasion, or oftentimes under the open sky. They have abandoned the ground that once belonged to them, and from which they once wielded so great a moral

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Raghu, the cobbler.

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The degeneracy of the old yātrā.

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and spiritual force, and any one who can recollect the old *yatras* and has the misfortune to attend their modern caricatures, is involuntarily reminded of Hamlet's famous line, "Look here upon this picture, and on that!"

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The songs of the *kaviwalas* in former times gave pictures of the domestic life of Bengal with all its gentle lights and shadows. The coy Bengali wife unable to speak out those sentiments of love with which her heart is filled, is beautifully portrayed in them. I quote below a song by Rāma Vasu, a *kaviwala*, who once enjoyed great popularity in the country. The song opens the door to a chamber into which outsiders have no access;—where the coy wife whispers her tale of grief to her maid and *confidante*. It is no free speech of love; we may well imagine the stops, the sighs and tears with which she delivers her tale, in a voice scarcely audible. Unfortunately it is impossible to convey the wailing cadence of the tune of the song. The bashful woman is longing for a sight of her husband, yet she could not speak out at the moment of farewell. Here is a picture of the Hindu wife that we miss in those poems and novels of modern Bengal which have been influenced by English literature.

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* "I could not tell him what I felt. My heart was filled with sorrow. But it was hidden so deep! I tried to speak, when he said good-bye, but shyness

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* "মনে রইল সই মনের বেদনা।
প্রবাসে যখন যায় গো সে, তারে বলি বলি আর বলা হ’ল না।
সরমে মরমের কথা কওয়া গেল না॥

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overwhelmed me and I said nothing. You see I am a woman, so how could I beg him not to leave me? Oh! why was I made a woman? May I not be so again!

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"In the dawn of my youth and in the bloom of the spring he has left me! When he smiled and said 'I am going' I wept to see him smile,—smile at the hour of parting! My heart yearned after him; I felt a longing to clasp him and detain him, but shyness came upon me, and seemed to say—'But how can you touch?' I saw his face beaming with smiles. I covered my own to hide my flowing tears. How cruel he was—he seemed to feel no pain at saying farewell! Oh! he has left me, left me without a sigh."

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Often a high spiritual tone pervades the *kavi* songs. The love of Rādhā and Kṛṣṇa is the theme which has for ages inspired the Bengali imagination with the highest emotions. Rāsu

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যদি নারী হয়ে সাধিতাম তাকে।
নির্লজ্জ রমণী বলে হাসিত লোকে॥
সখি ধিক্ থাক্ আমারে, ধিক্ সে বিধাতারে,
নারী জনম যেন আর করে না॥
একে আমার যৌবন কাল, তাহে কাল বসন্ত এল,
এ সময়ে প্রাণনাথ প্রবাসে গেল॥
যখন হাসি হাসি সে 'আসি' বলে।
সে হাসি দেখে ভাসি নয়ন জলে॥
তারে পারি কি ছেড়ে দিতে, মন চায় ধরিতে,
লজ্জা বলে ছি ছি ছুঁয়ো না।
তার মুখ দেখে, মুখ ঢেকে কাঁদিলাম সজনী,
অনায়াসে প্রবাসে গেল সে গুণমণি॥"

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Rāsu Narasiṅha.

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Narasiṅha who lived in the middle of the 16th century sang the following and similar other songs. They indicate the high spiritual plane from which the poet gave an interpretation of love.

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* "Speak to me, O my friend, of love. I am sick at heart and weary of the world. I yearn for love. O speak of love divine which heals a weary heart and opens the eyes to truth. Where may it be had? O tell me this! I yearn to visit its sacred shrine.

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"I have heard from those who know, that you are an adept in the secrets of this love. Be thou sincere and soothe my wounded heart by telling me of it. Weary of life, I have come to you for this.

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"Where is the fountain of that great love, for which Prahlāda, the son of Hiranyakaçipu, left the world, and courted hardships in the forest—for which the god Çiva spends day and night in Yoga in holy contemplation? Where is the fountain of that love which made Prince Bhagīratha bring down the stream of the Ganges from the celestial regions for the good of the world? What is that love which created the heart-rending woe of the maids of the Vrindā groves when Kriṣṇa left them for Mathurā, and by dint of which the Madhavi creepers on the banks of the Jumna had the good fortune to touch his lotus feet?''

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∗ "কহ সখি কিছু প্রেমেরই কথা, ঘুচাও আমার মনের ব্যথা। করিলে শ্রবণ, হয় দিব্যজ্ঞান, হেন প্রেমধন উপজে কোথা॥ আমি এসেছি বিরাগে, মনেরি রাগে, পিরীতি প্রয়াগে মুড়াব মাথা। আমি রসিকের স্থানে, পেয়েছি সন্ধানে, তুমি নাকি জান প্রেম-বারতা॥ কাপট্য ত্যজিয়া, কহ বিবরিয়া, ইহার লাগিয়া এসেছি হেথা। হায়, কোন প্রেম লাগি, প্রহ্লাদ বৈরাগী, মহাদেব যোগী কেমন প্রেমে। কি প্রেম কারণে, ভগীরথ জনে, ভাগীরথী আনে ভারতভূমে॥

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Here is another song by Rāsu Narasinha which sounds very like a sermon.

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* `` This earthly love, O maids, is no love. Of her who yields to earthly love, suffering is the destiny.

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``Forsaken by friends, slandered by the world, she is subjected to shame. Would you love, O maidens? Love so that both here in this world and in the next you may have nothing but happiness! Love Kriṣṇa the healer of all sore hearts. Why drink ye poison leaving nectar! Why expose yourselves to slander, which is worse than death?

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``In the temple of your heart place him from whom flows the fountain of all happiness. Close your eyes and call him dearest and offer your soul unto his feet. Then partings cannot come to cause you woe, nor the slanderous tongue pursue you.

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কোন প্রেমে হরি, ব'ধে ব্রজনারী, গেল মথুপুরী করে অনাথা। কোন প্রেম-ফলে, কালিন্দীর কূলে, কৃষ্ণপদ পেলে মাধবীলতা ॥'' "Let your mind be the bird *chakora*, and cry for a drop of mercy, even as the bird cries for a drop of water from the clouds. From the divine feet bearing the marks of ধ্বজ (the flag), বজ্র (the thunder), and অঙ্কুশ (the hook) flowed the Ganges, and what is that but the stream of His mercy? Bathe yourself in this, the sacred stream of divine mercy. You will be immortalised in love.

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∗ `` সখি এসকল প্রেম প্রেম নয়। ইহাতে মজিয়ে নাহি সুখের উদয় ॥ সুহৃদ ভঞ্জন, লোক গঞ্জন, কলঙ্কভাজন হতে হয়। এমন পিরিতি করি, যাতে তরি, ইহিকে আর পারত্রিকে। শ্রীনন্দ নন্দন, দুঃখ ভঞ্জন, সদা রাখি মন তার পায় ॥ অমিয় ত্যজে, গরলে মজে, উপজে কি সুখ। কলঙ্ক ঘোষণ, জগতে মরণ হ'তে অধিক ॥

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"Take refuge in the feet from which springs all light; they will dispel the darkness of the mind; that light will cause your heart to bloom, even as the sun's rays opens up the lotus. Be deep-drunk like the bee with the honey of his love.

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"The creator has placed nectar and poison in the same cup, and given you eyes to discriminate between the two. Why should ye prefer poison to nectar like a blind man? He who acts like a blind man though he has eyes, misuses and loses carelessly the precious gift of love".

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হৃদয় মন্দির মাঝে, রসরাজে, বসায়ে দেখিব আঁখি মুদিয়ে। বিকায়ে সে পদে, বাঁধি হৃদে, কলঙ্ক বিচ্ছেদে নাহি ভয়ে ॥ মনেরে করে চাতক পাখী রাখব বিশেষে। জলং দেহি জলং দেহি ডাকব প্রেমের প্রয়াসে ॥ ধ্বজ বজ্রাঙ্কুশ যুত পদ হইতে, জাহ্নবী হলেন যাহাতে। সে কৃপাজলে মন ডুবায়ে, করিব কালেরে পরাজয় ॥ কমলরঞ্জন, সেবিতধন, অরুণচরণে। মনের তিমির বিনাশ পায় সে কিরণে ॥ হৃদে আছে শতদল, সে কমল ফুটিবে, প্রেম পিযূষ ঘটিবে। মন মধুব্রত হয়ে যেন, রত সেই নামামৃত সুধা খায় । অমিয় আর গরল দুই রাখিয়ে সাক্ষাতে। নয়ন দিছেন বিধাতা। দেখিয়ে ভক্ষিতে ॥ তাজিয়ে এ সুধারস, কেন বিষ ভক্ষিবে, কলুষকূপে ডুবিবে। থাকিতে নয়ন অন্ধ যে জন, পেয়ে প্রেমধন সে হারায় ॥

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In the songs of Menokā and Yaçodā we find true portraits of the tenderness of Bengali mothers. In those days there was scarcely a Bengali mother who did not pass sleepless nights of longing for some girl-child of eight, sent to a stranger-family to play the housewife under a veil. These little wives were not allowed to move about or talk except in whispers to others of her own age! We all know the silent agonies of the mother's soul for her little widowed daughter living on a single meal a day, and observing fasts and vigils! This throbbing motherhood with its anxious eyes and fervent faith is called up to the mind's eyes as we hear these old songs of the village bards. We find in them the deep spirituality which has always made Bengali women bear the ills of life in a contented spirit; we see, besides, their devotion to their husbands, and notice their skill in the culinary art and their hospitality in these songs. Above all we have a glimpse of their deep piety proving them to be the true daughters of those who showed such marvellous fortitude and faith as satis on the funeral pyres of their husbands. These songs represent the feelings of the village people of Bengal, full of tender domestic instincts, who have lived plain lives, but have aspired to scale the loftiest heights in religion.

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We give a list of kaviwalas below:—

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1. Raghu the cobbler was a resident of Sālkiā—a village on the western bank of the Ganges facing Calcutta. He lived in the middle of the 16th century.

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{
2. Rāsu Narasiṅha, resident of Gondalpārā, near Chandernagara.
3. Gozlā Gui.
4. Lālu Nandalāla.
5. Haru Thākura (Hare Kriṣṇa Dirghāngi) born in 1738 at Simlā in Calcutta. One of his songs runs thus :—

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† “The dark night is still. Its silence is broken from time to time by thunderous clouds. The bird chatak and the peacock are happy to hear the sound. Tell me, O my maids, where is my Kriṣṇa now ? The fragrance of the kadamva, the ketaki, the jati, the champaka and the seuti flowers fills the air. They remind me of Kriṣṇa, who is not with me. The fire-flies dance and the lightning flashes, and the scene is suddenly lit up as if by day-light. The bird sadi sits quietly with her mate and they touch each other with their bills in love. Where is my Kriṣṇa, O my maids, at this hour ?”

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∗ The three bards whose names are bracketted were contemporaries of Raghu.

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† “সুধীর ধারে বহিছে এই ঘোরতরা রজনী ॥ এ সময়ে প্রাণ সখীরে, কোথায় গুণমণি; ঘন গরজে ঘন শুনি ॥ ঐ ময়ূর ময়ূরী হরষিত, হেরি চাতক চাতকিনী ॥ ঐ কদম্ব কেতকী চম্পক জাতি সেউতি সেফালিকে । প্রাণেতে প্রাণেতে মোহ জন্মায় প্রাণনাথে গৃহে না দেখে ॥ বিদ্যুত খদ্যোত দিবা জ্যোতিময় প্রকাশে দিনমণি । প্রিয়মুখে মুখ দিয়ে সারিশুক থাকে দিবস রজনী ॥”

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In another song he says:—

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“Do not be slow to recite the name of Kṛṣṇa, come what may. Would you give up hope, my soul, because suffering has been your lot in this world? Would you sink your boat in the water because there are waves in it?”

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Haru Ṭhākur died in 1813. Though he used to compose songs for professional parties, he himself was an amateur, and cared not to earn money by the profession of a kaviwala. At one time Rājā Nava Kissen of Grey Street, Calcutta, was so pleased with his songs that he offered a valuable shawl as a present to him, but he indignantly made a gift of it to a low caste drummer of the party.

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6. Rāma Vasu, born at Sālkiā in 1786, died in 1828. We have already quoted one of his songs on page 698, describing the pathos of love and especially scenes of parting.

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7. Nityānanda Vairāgi, resident of Chandernagar, born in 1751 and died in 1821.

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8. Nilu.

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9. Rāma Prasāda.

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10. Udaya Dās.

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11. Parāṇa Dās.

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12. Bhavānī Veniā.

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13. Mohana Sarkār.

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14. Ṭhakura Siṇha.

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Rāma Vasu and others.

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*“হরি নাম লইতে অলস হইও না, রসনা, যা’ হবার তা’ হবে। ঐহিকেরই সু’খ হল না বলে, কি ঢেউ দেখি তরী ডুবাবে॥”

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15. Nīlu Hari Pātni.
16. Kāçī Nātha Pātni.
17. Bholā Mairā.
18. Chintā Mairā.
19. Valarāma Kāpālī.
20. Govinda Ārajavegi.
21. Kriṣṇa Muchi.
22. Uddhava Dās.
23. Parāṇa Siṅha.
24. Rāmrupa Thākur of Dacca.
25. Jajnecwari, a woman.
26. Gorakṣa Nātha.
27. Goura Kavirāja.
28. Sātu Rāy.
29. Gadādhara Mukerjee.
30. Jaynārāyaṇa Mukerjee.
31. Thākura Dās Chakravarty.
32. Navāi Thākur.
33. Kāci Chandra Guha.

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Not influenced by English ideas. The names included in this list from No. 15 onward refer to contemporary kaviwalas or to those who were nearly contemporary to one another. They flourished in the earlier half of the 19th century. It should be said here, that though many of the kaviwalas lived when English rule had been established in India, their school was not at all influenced by English ideas.

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The Portuguese Kaviwala Mr. Antony. We have not named in this list one kaviwala who enjoyed great popularity in Calcutta and its suburbs early in the 19th century. This was Mr. Antony of Chandernagar. He and his brother Mr. Kelly were of Portuguese parentage, and had settled in Bengal. They had accumulated immense wealth by successful trade in India. Mr. Antony, when a young man, fell in love with a remarkably handsome Brāhmin widow of Chandernagar. He did not marry her, but the pair lived as husband and wife in his garden house at Gereti near Chandernagar, where the remains of his house may still be seen. Antony did not interfere with the religious views of the Brāhmin woman, nay, he encouraged them as best as he could; for in his house at Gereti, the religious festivals of the Hindus were performed by her with great eclat, and he heartily joined the festal ceremonies. The temple of Kālī known as Firingī Kālī, at 243, Bowbāzār Street, Calcutta, was erected by him at her desire.

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Antony acquired Bengali so well that he gained a perfect mastery over its colloquial forms. During the religious festivals of Hindus, his house became a resort of the kaviwalas who showed their enthusiasm in reviling their rivals in extempore verses. Antony took so great an interest in these free competitions of the kaviwalas, that he himself founded a party of his own, and employed a bard named Gorakṣanātha to compose extempore verses of satire to be levelled against others. He however soon found that he was himself more than a match for many a kaviwala, dismissed Gorakṣanātha, and himself appeared on the stage singing Bengali songs; and as a sequel to them he attacked the rival parties in doggerels composed extempore by himself,—vilifying, slandering and abusing them to the height of his power. It was a curious sight to see a European leave his trousers, coat and hat, dress himself like a Bengali with a *chadar* hanging down from his shoulders, and the *kocha* of his *dhooti* neatly flowing in strict Bengali fashion, and singing songs in praise of the goddess Kāli as follows:—

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* "I am a Portuguese and don't know how to worship thee. Oh Kāli, be merciful to me."

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This he did for the sake of amusement; for he remained a christian all his life, though by living with his Hindu consort and in the atmosphere of Hindu ideas, he had acquired the liberal views of the Hindus on matters of religion and was quite devoid of crude bigotry. Mr. Antony's party soon acquired the fame of being invincible in their extempore satirical verses. Thākura Sing, the leader of another party of *kaviwalas*, made a charge at him in the following couplet.

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† "Tell me, O Antony, for I want to know, why you have, coming to this land of ours, turned a vagabond without a coat?"

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Mr. Antony was in the midst of audience consisting of common folk who would not appreciate any shrewd humour or clever stroke of wit. He was not only required to be coarse in his abuse, but to couch them in Bengali idioms of these rustic folk, and it must be admitted that he was

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[^ *]: " ভজন সাধন জানিনে মা, নিজেত ফিরিঙ্গি। যদি দয়া করে কৃপা কর হে শিবে মাতঙ্গী॥ [^ †]: " শুনহে এন্টনি, আমি একটা কথা জানতে চাই। এসে এদেশে, এবেশে, তোমার গায়ে কেন কুর্ত্তি নাই"

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fully equal to the task. Here is the extempore doggerel with which he made his retort. There is no greater abusive word in Bengali than that of ‘Ṣāla’ (wife’s brother, and Antony accosted his rival as such, although not in so many words.

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*“I am happy in Bengal in the costumes of the natives, and from having been elected as son-in-law to the father of Ṭhākura Siṅha, I have lost my taste for hat and coat.”*

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Such abuse, as I have said, stains that portion of the *kavi*-literature which had found favour in cities and large towns. In the cool recesses of the villages, the rustic folk assembled to hear tales of sacrifice, resignation, sufferings for love, and of tender domestic scenes sung by their unassuming bards. Nor do I know if anywhere else than in India the lowest stratum of society, which the *kaviwalas* mainly represented, could show so much spirituality, love, and tender pathos in their literature, chiefly contributed as this was by illiterate men of the lowest classes. The gentler classes, the dilettantes belonging to the aristocracy, favoured the *kaviwalas* in later times only to stamp this folk-lore with their depraved taste; but away from the town, the villages preserved unspoiled, the well of Hindu thought—undefiled, and fit to satisfy the spiritual thirst of those who were humble in spirit, kindly in disposition and who approached God as the Hindu wife approaches her husband,—in deep reverence and love.

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*“ এই বাংলায় বাঙ্গালীর বেশে আনন্দে আছি। হ’য়ে ঠাকুরে সিংএর বাপের জামাই, কুৰ্ত্তিটুপী ছেড়েছি।”

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(b) Religious Songs.

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Twenty-five years ago, in the twilight on the river Khoyāi in Sylhet, I saw a boatman rowing a small boat, and as he rowed he sang:

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* “Take back thine oar, O boatman, I can no longer ply it; all my life I have struggled to bear my boat upstream, but backwards it has gone inspite of me, and now in my old age I find my efforts gone for naught. The prow of the boat is broken, and the planks are falling away. It can no longer be kept from sinking.”

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This means that he had fought with his passions all his life trying to control them, and bring the mind under discipline; but he could not. And now when life's ebb-tide was setting in, the despairing boatman could only call upon the Lord to take the charge of the boat of his life for him, conscious as he was of his own incapacity to control it, at the last moment.

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This song, which I heard at Habiganj in Sylhet, may be heard sung by the rustic folk at Mymensing and Dacca and even here in Calcutta.

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This clear idea of self-control as the supreme good, is not confined in the country to the literate and higher classes. Through long years of the spread of Buddhism and the Vedanta Philosophy, it has filtered down to the lowest stratum of society, and illiterate villagers realise the deepest meaning of this spiritual truth, no less than men of rank and learning.

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∗ “মন মাঝি তোর বৈঠা নেরে, আমি আর বাইতে পারি না। জনম ভরে বাইলাম তরী রে, তরী ভাটায় সোয়ায় উজায় না ॥ নায়ের গুড়া ভাঙ্গা, ছাপ্পর লড়া রে, আমি আর বাইতে পারি না”

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There are hundreds of songs describing the transitoriness of life and the vanity of human wishes; and there is hardly a rustic in a Bengal-village who does not sing to himself some favourite tune having for its burden the mutability of fortune, as, after his weary day of labour, he lays down his tools to retire to rest. Here is another song of the same class: —

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*“Tell me who are you, carried on a bamboo bier to the funeral ground? Some of your fellows bear you on their shoulders, and while others follow with faggots for the pyre. Your little child is calling for his father. Why so unkind that you have no word for him to-day. Did you not, with the sweat of your brow, earn gold mohurs and rupees, wandering from Delhi to Lahore and thence to Dacca, for the purpose? You strove to heap up wealth. You would not spend for your own comfort a four anna-bit or even a pice. Tell me, brother, how much of this hard-earned money are you carrying with you now?”

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These wailing songs are sung by the villagers in chorus. The melody is high-pitched, and the air resounds on all sides with the chant.

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*“বাঁসের দোলাতে উঠে, কেহ বটে, শ্মশান ঘাটে যাচ্ছ চলে,
সঙ্গে সব কাঠের ভরা, লাটবহরা, জাতব্যবহার কাঁধে চড়ে
. . . . . ছেলে কাঁদে বাবা বলে
ও তুমি কওনা কথা, নাইক ব্যথা, কিসের জন্য এমন হলে?
ঘুরে যে দিল্লি লাহোর, ঢাকার সহর, টাকা মোহর এনেছিলে,
খেলে না পয়সা সিকি, কওনা দেখি, তার কি কিছু সঙ্গে নিলে”

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A popular song by Kāṅgāl Harinātha.

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If life is a truth, death is no less so. If one realises this, and turns his back upon the sweets of life, saying that they are not worth caring for, since they are so transitory and because they are held in the same cup with poison, what can a materialistic civilisation offer to such a soul?

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The mind turns naturally from the horror of death to God. The soul, that has the power to revel in the permanent delights of god-realisation, becomes the all engrossing matter of attention. Though confined in its temporary shed, it may free itself from its "fleshy vesture of decay" and by the process of Yoga reach a state of permanent bliss. This is realised by the Indian aspirant of a spiritual life, and all the religious songs of Bengal have this burden.

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Amongst those who have composed religious songs, there is no higher name than that of Rāma Prasāda Sen. Born in the quiet village of Kumārahatta, near a station on the East Bengal Railway, in 1718, he was at first influenced by the depraved taste of the court of Rājā Kriṣṇa Chandra of Navadwipa. It may have been owing to satisfy the Rājā or his own youthful poetic vanity, that he wrote the indecent poem of Vidyā Sundara which was very soon after its composition, outdone by the more brilliant Vidyā Sundara by Bhārata Chandra. Soon after this Rāma Prasāda retired to his native village, where the Panchamundi or seat on which he sat day and night to practise Yoga, is still to be seen.

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Rāma Prasāda was the son of Rāma Rāma Sen, a Vaidya by caste. By the machinations of his relations, the father had been deprived of his inheritance, and the poet passed his early life in poverty. While yet in his teens he was admitted as an apprentice in the revenue office of a Zemindar and was entrusted with the work of keeping the accounts. One day his master was taken by surprise to find some remarkably beautiful songs scribbled over the pages of the account-book, evidently in the hand-writing of the young apprentice. When he came to know that Rāma Prasāda was their author, he was so highly pleased with the poetic talents of the young man, that he conferred a pension of Rs. 30 on him, and allowed him to retire to his village and devote himself to the composition of songs. Rāma Prasāda also obtained a pension from Rājā Kriṣṇa Chandra, besides a gift of 100 bighas of rent-free land in 1758. After his retirement his fame spread all over Bengal, and his songs composed in the soul-captivating Ragini called the Malacri, wrought a revolution in the spiritual world.

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These songs came spontaneously from the soul. The motherhood of God is a definite realisation in them. Like a child, the poet prattles in them of his griefs and sorrows to the Divine Mother Kālī.

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Rāma Prasāda was a devout worshipper of Kālī, —Kālī with her fierce destructive look, with a complexion dark as the darkest cloud, and with four hands, one holding the decapitated head of a sinner, another a sword, the third offering benediction and the last assurance to those who would not swerve from virtue's path. When we call God all merciful, kind, and benign, there is one element which we try to white-wash to please our fancy. Surely the Creator is also the Destroyer. In vain do we discourse sweetly on the tender aspects of the Deity; there is no playing fast and loose, no shilly-shallying with another feature of the Divinity, the awe-inspiring, the dark and the terrible, the fierceness of which confronts us at every step. The Çāktas have proclaimed the worship of Kālī to be only possible in a higher stage of spiritual development. A sweet and complete resignation of one’s self to the Divine power knowing it to be terrible, makes the devotee, according to them, grapple better with the problems of life, from a spiritual point of view. Some Çākta-interpreters have explained the dark colour of Kālī as signifying the mystery that enshrouds the primary cause of the universe. The worshippers of Kālī hold her to be at once destructive and protective. Rāma Prāsada especially speaks of her as the mother who beats the child, while the child clings to her only the closer, crying “Mother! Oh Mother!” Here is his song:—

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Kalī, the mother.

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“Though the mother beat him, the child cries ‘Mother! Oh Mother!’ and clings still tighter to her garment. True I cannot see thee, yet am I not a lost child. I still cry ‘Mother! Mother!’”*

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Through the fierce and the terrible he sees the sweet moonlight of grace that suddenly breaks forth, and Kālī is no more than a symbol to him,—a symbol of divine punishment, of divine grace, and of divine motherhood. She is as much a symbol as the word God. If the symbol of a word is admitted into the vocabulary, why object to the symbol of a figure in the temple? One appeals to the ear, and the other to the eye. Rāma Prasāda saw the fierce rolling clouds that darkened the whole horizon, and thought he saw in them the dark and flowing tresses of the Mother. The fire of the funeral ground, reducing a corpse to ashes, reminded him of the destructive dance of the Mother. The red glow of the evening sky, with its first stars, wore to his eyes the angry look of the divine Mother. The storm, the hurricane, the flood, death and disease—these are her companions. The cry of jackal is the chorus heard behind her. The funeral ground is her favourite place; her dark skin, stained with blood, he compares to the black waters of the Jumna upon which floats the full blown lotus. In the agonies that rend the whole world he sees the chastising rod of the Mother, but says that he is not in the heart affrighted, for he has taken refuge in her grace. The image of Kālī works his imagination into lofty poetry, He sang :—

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∗ See Kali the Mother, by Sister Nevedita p. 53.

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*“See! she does not bind her flowing tresses, nor does she wear any apparel. A sweet smile breaks out upon her lips!”

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Sometimes he says, †“All the miseries that I have suffered and am suffering I know, Oh Mother, to be your mercy alone” for he knew that chastisement opens the blind man’s eyes;—a cruel process, but sure in the end to lead to truth and bliss.

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∗ “ধনী না বাঁধে কবরী, না পরে বাস। সে বিধুবদনে মধুর হাস ॥”

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† “বারে বারে যত দুঃখ দিয়েছ, দিতেছ, তারা। সে কেবল দয়া তব জেনেছি মা দুঃখহরা ॥”

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A mere symbol.

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Sitting at the feet of the image, he often knew it to be no more than a symbol, and he yearned for a revealation of his Mother in his soul. Here is one of his songs

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“O mind, why do you indulge in vain thoughts!
“This pompous worship and rituals are in vain,—they only increase the vanity of the soul.
“Pray to Her secretly, that no one may know of it.
“What is the use of making dolls out of metal, stone and earth?
“Don’t you, know, O fool, that the whole universe is the image of the Mother?
“You have brought a handful of gram, O shameless one, as an offering to the Mother—to Her who feeds the whole world with delicious food!
“What use, O foolish mind, in making illuminations with lanterns, candle and lamps?
“Let the mind’s light grow, and dispel its own darkness, day and night.

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“মন তোর এত ভাবনা কেনে?
এক বার কালী বলে বসরে ধ্যানে॥
জাঁকজমকে কল্লে পূজা, অহঙ্কার হয় মনে!
তুই লুকিয়ে তাঁরে করবি পূজা, জানবে নারে জগৎজনে॥
ধাতু, পাষাণ, মাটীর মূর্ত্তি কাজ কিরে তোর সে গঠনে।
তুমি মনোময় প্রতিমা গড়ি, বসাও হৃদি পদ্মাসনে॥
আলোচাল আর পাকা কলা, কাজ কিরে তোর আয়োজনে।
তুমি ভক্তি-সুধা খাইয়ে তাঁরে, তৃপ্তি কর আপন মনে॥
ঝাড়, লণ্ঠন, বাতি দিয়ে কাজ কিরে তোর আলো-দানে।
তুমি মনোময় মাণিক্য জ্বেলে, দাওনা জ্বলুক নিশি দিনে॥

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“You have brought innocent goats for sacrifice.

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“Why not say, ‘Victory to Kalī!’ and sacrifice your passions, which are your real enemies?

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“Why these sounds of the drum? Only keep your mind at Her feet and say;—

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“Let thy will, O Kalī, be fulfilled, and saying so clap your hands.”

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In another song he says, “Making pilgrimage, visiting shrines is only a physical labour unto you.”

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But if Rāma Prasāda condemned empty rituals and the worship of images, it was only at a moment when the mere means were confounded with the end. In fact the image of Kalī was to him a perpetual fountain from which he drew the realisation of the sublime, the terrible and the beautiful in nature; and it inspired in him the most poetic songs that adorn the literature of the Śāktas of Bengal.

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The songs of Rāma Prasāda still reign supreme in our villages. In the pastoral meadows, amidst sweet scents of herbs and flowers, with the gentle murmurs of the river flowing by, or in the rice-fields where sounds of the cutting of grass or reaping of harvest lend a charm to the tranquil village-scene, one may often hear the Mālaçri songs of Rāma Prasāda, sung by rustics in the following strain. *“This brief day will pass, sure

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মেয ছাগল মহিষাদি কাজু কিরে তোর বলিদানে। তুমি ‘জয় কালী’ ‘জয় কালী’ বলে বলি দেও ষড়রিপুগণে॥ প্রসাদ বলে, ঢাক ঢোল কাজ কিরে তোর সে বাজনে। তুমি ‘জয় কালী’ বলি দেও করতালি, মন রাখি তাঁর শ্রীচরণে॥
* “নিতাস্ত যাবে এদিন, কেবল শোষণা রবে গো। তারা নামে অসংখ্য কলঙ্ক রবে গো॥ it is, oh Mother Kālī,—and all the world will find fault with you that you could not save a sinner like me”! *“ My days are spent in vain pleasure; I have forgotten the only reality in life. When I earned money here and there, my wife, friends, brothers, and sons were all under my control; but now advanced in years, and unable to earn, they treat me unkindly because of my poverty. When death will come and pull me by the hair, they will prepare a bamboo bier for me, and dismiss me from the house with a poor earthern pitcher, stripped of clothing like an ascetic.”

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The image of Kalī inspires his songs.

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The poet of the rural Bengal.

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A European critic on Rāma Prasāda.

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Sister Nivedita says of the works of Rāma Prasāda, “ No flattery could touch a nature so unapproachable in its simplicity. For in these writings we have, perhaps alone in literature, the spectacle of a great poet, whose genius is spent in realising the emotions of a child. William Blake in our own poetry strikes the note that is nearest his, and Blake is by no means his peer. Robert Burns, in his splendid indifference to rank and Whitman in his glorification of common things, have points of kinship with him. But to such a radiant white heat of childlikeness, it would be

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*“ গেল দিন বৃথা রঙ্গরসে, আমি কাজ হারালাম, কালের বশে। যখন ধন উপার্জন, করেছিলাম দেশ বিদেশে, তখন ভাই, বন্ধু, দারা, সুত, সবাই ছিল আপন বশে। এখন ধন উপার্জন, হল না আর দশার শেষে। সেই ভাই, বন্ধু, দারা, সুত, নিধন বলে সবাই দোষে। যম এসে শিয়রে বসে, ধরবে যখন অগ্রকেশে, তখন সাজায়ে মাচা, কলসী কাঁচা, বিদায় দিবে দণ্ডীর বেশে।”

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impossible to find a perfect counterpart. His years do nothing to spoil his quality. They only serve to give him self-confidence and poise. Like a child he is now grave, now gay, sometimes petulant, sometimes despairing. But in the child all this is purposeless. In Rāma Prasāda there is a deep intensity of purpose. Every sentence he has uttered is designed to sing the glory of his Mother."*

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The descendants of the saintly poet still live in the village of Kumarahatta. One of them Babu Kali Pada Sen, a great grandson of Rāma Prasāda Sen, is working as an Engineer in Orissa. Rāma Prasāda died in the year 1775 A. D.

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Before concluding my account of Rāma Prasāda, I quote two more songs of his which are very popular amongst the villages.

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( I )

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†" No more shall I call you by that sweet name, ' mother '!

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† " মা মা বলে আর ডাক্বনা। মা দিয়েছ, দিতেছ কতই যাতনা ॥ আমি ছিলেম গৃহবাসী, বানালি সন্ন্যাসী, আর কি ক্ষমতা রাখ এলোকেশী ॥

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" You have given me woes unnumbered and reserved many more for me, I know !

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" I once had a home and family, and now you have made me such that I am disowned by all.

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" What other ills may yet befall me I cannot tell.

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*Kali the Mother page 48.

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“Who knows but that I may have to beg my bread from door to door? Indeed, I am expecting it.

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“Does not a child live when his mother is dead?

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“Rāma Prasāda was a true son of his mother; —but you, being the mother, have treated your son like an enemy.

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“If in the presence of his mother, the son can suffer so much,

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what is the use of such a mother to him?”

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*“O mother, for what offence have I been placed for this long term of life in this prison house of the world!

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“I rise in the morning to work; O how hard do I work!

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“I wander about in all directions to gain filthy lucre,

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না হয় দ্বারে দ্বারে যাব, ভিক্ষা মেগে খাব।
মা ম’লে কি তার ছেলে বাঁচেনা॥
রাম প্রসাদ ছিল গো মায়েরই পুত্র।
মা হ’য়ে হলি গো ছেলেরই শত্রু॥
মা বর্তমানে, এ দুঃখ সন্তানে,
মা থেকে তার কি ফল বল না॥”

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*তারা কোন্ অপরাধে এ দীর্ঘ মেয়াদে
সংসার গারদে রাখিস বল॥
আমি প্রাতঃকালে উঠি, কতই যে মা খাটি,
ছুটাছুটি করি ভূমণ্ডল॥
রথা অর্থ অভিলাষী, মায়ামদে ভাসি,
তারা এলোকেশী জানিস কি কৌশল॥

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“O what delusion possesses me!
“And, O mother, how perfect are the enticements by which you bind my soul to this vain world!
“Bringing me down to this world, unnumbered are the troubles you have crowded into my destiny.
“They burn me like fire day and night,
I no longer wish for life, O Mother!”

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— O —

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After Rāma Prasād, a host of song-writers appeared who imitated his high spiritual strain. Amongst them the following writers attained marked success.

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1. Mahārāja Rāma Kriṣṇa of Nattore, son and successor of the far-famed Raṇi Bhavāṇi of Nattore, and a contemporary of Rāma Prasāda Sen. Mahārāja Rāma Kriṣṇa was one of the famous princely saints of India. We have not succeeded in tracing many of his songs, but the few, that have came down to us, show a high spiritual tone. One is quoted here:—

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*“If only my mind can reach realisation, you may do with me whatever you will; no matter if you place me on a bed of sand. Only recite the name of the divine Mother in my ears.

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এনে ভূমণ্ডলে, কতই দুঃখ দিলে
আমার নিরবধি জ্বলে দুঃখানল ॥
আমার বাঁচিতে সাধ নাই।”

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*“আমার মন যদিরে ভোলে,
তবে বালির শয্যায়, কালীর নাম, রেখো কর্ণমূলে।
দেহ আপন বশী নয়, সে রিপুর সঙ্গে চলে ॥
এনে দে ভোলা, জপের মালা, ভাসাই গঙ্গাজলে॥”

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“This body of mine is so difficult to control; it yields to passion.

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“O Bhola, my guide, bring me my rosary; I shall throw it into the Ganges, no more formality.”

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Kamalā-kānta.

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2. Kamalā Kānta Bhaṭṭācharyya, born in the last part of the 18th century. He was formerly an inhabitant of Ambikānagara in Kālnā, but removed to Kotalhata in Burdwan in the year 1800. He was the religious preceptor of Maharaj Tejaçchandra of Burdwan. I may here give one of his songs :—

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* “In whatever station I may be placed, it all becomes blessed, if I forget thee not. O Mother! this life, the bitter cup of life, is a source of bliss, if I can feel thy grace in my heart. Ashes and clods of earth, or precious jewels, lodging beneath a tree for want of a roof, or a seat on the royal throne,—to Kamalā Kānta all these are of equal value, when in his heart thou dwellest.”

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3. Dewān Raghunātha Ray, born in 1750 A.D. at the village Chupi in Burdwan. His ancestors held the high function of Dewān in the court of the Mahārājās of Burdwan, and on the death of his father Dewān Vraja Kiçore, Raghunātha obtained the appointment in due course. He was a profound scholar in Sanskrit and Persian, and composed a considerable number of religious songs in Bengali. He died in 1836.

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∗ যখন যেমন রূপে রাখিবে আমারে। সকল সফল যদি না ভুলি তোমারে ॥ জনম, করম, দুঃখ, সুখ করি মানি। যদি নিরখি অন্তরে শ্যামা জলদ-বরণী। বিভূতি ভূষণ, কি রতন মণি কাঞ্চন। তরুতলে বাস, কি রাজ সিংহাসন, কমলাকান্ত উভয় সম সাধন জননি, নিবস যদি হৃদয় মন্দিরে গো মা ॥

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4. Dewān Rāmdulāla Nandi. He was born at Kalikaccha in Tippera in the year 1785. He acquired a mastery of Sanskrit, Persian and Bengali. He obtained the appointment of Sheristādār in the Noakhali Collectorate under Mr. Haliday; and after some time became the Minister in the Court of the Mahārāja of Tippera. Rāma Dulāla died in the year 1851. Here is one of his songs.

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† “O Mother, I know that you play at magic with our souls.

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† “ওগো জেনেছি, জেনেছি, তারা,
তুমি জান মা ভোজের বাজি।
যে তোমায় যেমনি ভাবে,
তাতে তুমি মা হও রাজি ॥
মগে বলে ফরা, তারা, লর্ড বলে ফিরিঙ্গী যারা,
খোদা বলে ডাকে তোমায়,
মোগল, পাঠান, সৈয়দ, কাজী।
শাক্তে তোমায় বলে শক্তি,
শিব তুমি শৈবের উক্তি,
সৌর বলে সূর্য তুমি, বৈরাগী কয় রাধিকাঞ্জী।
গাণপত্য বলে গণেশ, যক্ষ বলে তুমি ধনেশ।
শিল্পী বলে বিশ্বকর্মা, বদর বলে নায়ের মাঝি।
শ্রীরাম দুলালে বলে, বাজি নয় এ জেন ফলে,
এক ব্রহ্ম দ্বিধা ভেবে,
মন আমার হয়েছে পাজি ॥”

Cites (1)

Vidyāsundara — Bhāratacandra 1728, Sanskrit