~ Every betrayal contains a perfect moment, a coin stamped heads or tails with salvation on the other side. ~
-Barbara Kingsolver
( Year 5- Issue 49-50)
In this Section: Talk About -Osho. Favourites Forever: William Buttlar Yates. Poetry Here & Now: Divya Mathur. Story: Maxim Gorky. Tales of the Time: Aloke Satpute. Kids' Corner: A panchtantra Tale from India and a tradional english nursery rhyme.
Details about the subject of the next issue : on the ' Contact us' page. Created , Edited & published By : Shail Agrawal Contact Mail: editor@lekhni.net; shailagrawal@hotmail.com
Lekhni is updated on every first day of the month.
Once again spring is in the air and all around us. But in today’s world spring or no spring, how does one finds and if found how does one recognizes that fresh feeling... of love and happiness! So much of the dark and dismal is happening all around us that we are in a funny sort of a way-getting used to it. Our world is changing, its' climate is changing faster than we can cope and adjust with it. We are also changing with it,without a doubt. Others' misery does not touch or bother us anymore. News are just news; good or bad. Scientist definitely do not believe in it . According to them instinct of self-preservation is the only instinct a living creature have. It surrounds and culminates into all other instincts and emotions, we have.
We do not love anything as much as we do love ourselves or our own life. To prove their point they took a mammal who is known to love its’ baby the most. We all know that a monkey carries her baby all the time closer to her chest, even a dead one also. So, they took a monkey with its baby clung to its chest and put them in side an empty tank. Then they started to fill the tank with a powerful gush of water. To start with mother monkey was restless and was doing all she could to save herself and the baby, but when the water rose to unbearable heights and she started to drown and could not breathe, she forgot the baby and jumped out of the tank stepping over the same baby, whom she was trying to save. So dearly True, it is a cynical and sad story, but it proved the theory of survival. Yet it is different. It isn’t a humane story and it cannot wipe off all those tales of tender love where human have proved differently than animals, have sacrificed all and everything on their children or object of love , their own life even. After all “ Love is the emblem of eternity; it confounds all notion of time; effaces all memory of a beginning, all fear of an end. “ as Madame De Stael once so beautifully put on words.
Osho also in one of his talks, once said- “ Love should be a reality in your life, not just a poem, not just a dream. It has to be actualized. It is never too late to experience love for the first time.”
In this issue of ‘Lekhni’ we are celebrating this same magic of love, even in todays’ rapidly changing and materialistic developing world, there are still many powerful stories of love …of imparalal and lofty caring and sacrifices.
With this issue LEKHNI is entering into its' 5'th yearly cycle. How did you like it so far? We haven't had any feed back at all. Do not feel shy to let us know about your likes or dislikes . …Be it a healthy suggestion or criticism. We are always listening and eager to improve .
There are three layers of the human individual: his physiology, the body; his psychology, the mind; and his being, his eternal self. Love can exist on all the three planes, but its qualities will be different. On the plane of physiology, body, it is simply sexuality. You can call it love, because the word ‘love’ seems to be poetic, beautiful. But ninety-nine percent of people are calling their sex, love. Sex is biological, physiological. Your chemistry, your hormones — everything material is involved in it.
You fall in love with a woman or a man. Can you exactly describe why this woman attracted you? Certainly you cannot see her self, you have not seen your own self yet. You cannot see her psychology either, because to read somebody’s mind is not an easy job. So what have you found in the woman? Something in your physiology, in your chemistry, in your hormones, is attracted to the woman’s hormones, her physiology, her chemistry. This is not a love affair; this is a chemical affair.
Just think: the woman you have fallen in love with goes to our doctor, gets her sex changed, starts growing a beard and mustache. Will you be still loving her? Nothing has changed, only chemistry, hormones. Where has your love gone?
Only one percent of people know a little bit deeper. Poets, painters, musicians, dancers, singers have a sensitivity that they can feel beyond the body. They can feel the beauties of the mind, the sensitivities of the heart, because they live on that plane themselves.
Remember it as a ground rule: Wherever you live, you cannot see beyond that. If you live in your body, if you think you are only your body, you can be attracted only to somebody’s body. This is the physiological stage of love. But a musician, a painter, a poet, lives on a different plane. He does not think, he feels. And because he lives in his heart, he can feel the other person’s heart. That is ordinarily called love. It is rare. I am saying only one percent perhaps, once in a while.
Why are many people not moving to the second plane because it is tremendously beautiful? But there is a problem: anything very beautiful is also very delicate. It is not hardware, it is made of very fragile glass. And once a mirror has fallen and broken, then there is no way to put it together. People are afraid to get so much involved that they reach to the delicate layers of love, because at that stage love is tremendously beautiful but also tremendously changing.
Sentiments are not stones, they are like roseflowers. It is better to have a plastic roseflower, because it will be there always, and every day you can give it a shower and it will be fresh. You can put some French perfume on it. If its color fades you can paint it again. Plastic is one of the most indestructible things in the world. It is stable, permanent; hence people stop at the physiological. It is superficial, but it is stable.
Poets are known, artists are known to fall in love almost every day. Their love is like a roseflower. While it is there it is so fragrant, so alive, dancing in the wind, in the rain, in the sun, asserting its beauty. But by the evening it may be gone, and you cannot do anything to prevent it. The deeper love of the heart is just like a breeze that comes into your room, brings its freshness, coolness, and then it is gone. You cannot catch hold of the wind in your fist.
Very few people are so courageous as to live with a moment-to-moment, changing life. Hence, they have decided to fall into a love on which they can depend. I don’t know which kind of love you know — most probably the first kind, perhaps, the second kind. And you are afraid that if you reach your being, what will happen to your love? Certainly it will be gone — but you will not be a loser. A new kind of love will arise which arises only perhaps to one person in millions. That love can only be called lovingness.
The first love should be called sex. The second love should be called love. The third should be called lovingness — a quality, unaddressed — not possessive and not allowing anybody else to possess you. That loving quality is such a radical revolution that even to conceive it is very difficult.
Journalists have been asking me, “Why are there so many women here?” Obviously, the question is relevant, and they are shocked when I answer them. They were not expecting the answer. I have said to them, “I am a man.” They looked at me, unbelieving. I said, “It is natural that many more women will be here, for the simple reason that whatsoever they have known in their life before was either sex, or in rare cases, perhaps a few moments of love. But they have never come to know the taste of lovingness.” I have told these journalists, “Even the men you see here have grown many feminine qualities in them which have been repressed in the outside society.”
From the very beginning a boy is told, “You are a boy, not a girl. Behave like a boy! Tears are okay for a girl, but not for you. Be manly.” So every boy goes on cutting his feminine qualities. And all that is beautiful is feminine. So finally what is left is just a barbarous animal. His whole function is to reproduce children. The girl is not allowed to have anything with manly qualities. If she wants to climb a tree she will be stopped immediately, “This is for boys, not for girls!” Strange! If the girl has the desire to climb the tree, that is enough proof that she should be allowed.
All old societies have created different clothes for men and for women. This is not right; because each man is also a woman. He has come from two sources: his father and his mother. Both have contributed to his being. And each woman is also a man. We have destroyed both. The woman has lost all courage, adventure, reasoning, logic, because those are thought to be the qualities of a man. And the man has lost grace, sensitivity, compassion, kindness. Both have become half. This is one of the greatest problems we have to solve — at least for our people.
My sannyasins have to be both: half man, half woman. That will make them richer. They will have all the qualities that are available to human beings, not only half. At the point of being, you simply have a fragrance of lovingness. The journalists have asked me, “Do you love Sheela?” I said, “Of course. But I love so many women that I don’t know even their names. And not only women — I love so many men, because they are also half woman.” In one million sannyasins around the world, I cannot point to a single person and say, “This is the person I love.” I can simply say, “I love.” Whoever is ready to receive my love...it is available. So don’t be afraid. Your fear is right: what you think of as love will be gone, but what will come in its place is immense, infinite. You will be able to love without being attached. You will be able to love many people because to love one person is to keep yourself poor. That one person can give a certain experience of love, but to love many people....
You will be amazed that every person gives you a new feeling, a new song, a new ecstasy. Hence, I am against marriage. In my vision, marriages in the commune should be dissolved. People can live together their whole life if they want, but that is not a legal necessity. People should be moving, having as many experiences of love as possible. They should not be possessive. Possessiveness destroys love. And they should not be possessed, because that again destroys your love.
All human beings are worthy of being loved. There is no need to be tethered to one person for your whole life. That is one of the reasons why all the people around the world look so bored. Why can’t they laugh like you? Why can’t they dance like you? They are chained with invisible chains: marriage, family, husband, wife, children. They are burdened with all kinds of duties, responsibilities, sacrifices. And you want them to smile and laugh and dance and rejoice? You are asking the impossible. Make people’s love free, make people non-possessive. But this can happen only if in your meditation you discover your being. It is nothing to practice.
I am not saying to you, “Tonight you go to some other woman just as a practice.” You will not get anything, and you may lose your wife. And in the morning you will look silly. It is not a question of practicing, it is a question of discovering your being. With the discovery of being follows the quality of impersonal lovingness. Then you simply love. And it goes on spreading. First, it is human beings, then soon animals, birds, trees, mountains, stars. A day comes when this whole existence is your beloved. That is our potential. And anybody who is not achieving it is wasting his life.
Yes, you will have to lose a few things, but they are worthless. You will be gaining so much that you will never think again of what you have lost. A pure impersonal lovingness which can penetrate into anybody’s being — that is the outcome of meditativeness, of silence, of diving deep within your own being. I am simply trying to persuade you. Don’t be afraid of losing what you have.
My mother dandled me and sang, 'How young it is, how young!' And made a golden cradle That on a willow swung.
'He went away,' my mother sang, 'When I was brought to bed,' And all the while her needle pulled The gold and silver thread.
She pulled the thread and bit the thread And made a golden gown, And wept because she had dreamt that I Was born to wear a crown.
'When she was got,' my mother sang, I heard a sea-mew cry, And saw a flake of the yellow foam That dropped upon my thigh.'
How therefore could she help but braid The gold into my hair, And dream that I should carry The golden top of care?
Brown Penny
I whispered, 'I am too young,' And then, 'I am old enough'; Wherefore I threw a penny To find out if I might love. 'Go and love, go and love, young man, If the lady be young and fair.' Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny, I am looped in the loops of her hair.
O love is the crooked thing, There is nobody wise enough To find out all that is in it, For he would be thinking of love Till the stars had run away And the shadows eaten the moon. Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny, One cannot begin it too soon.
The Second Coming
Turning and turning in the widening gyre The falcon cannot hear the falconer; Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere The ceremony of innocence is drowned; The best lack all conviction, while the worst Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand; Surely the Second Coming is at hand. The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert A shape with lion body and the head of a man, A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun, Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds. The darkness drops again; but now I know That twenty centuries of stony sleep Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle, And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
The year was the year '92-- the year of leanness--the scene a spot between Sukhum and Otchenchiri, on the river Kodor, a spot so near to the sea that amid the joyous babble of a sparkling rivulet the ocean's deep-voiced thunder was plainly distinguishable.
Also, the season being autumn, leaves of wild laurel were glistening and gyrating on the white foam of the Kodor like a quantity of mercurial salmon fry. And as I sat on some rocks overlooking the river there occurred to me the thought that, as likely as not, the cause of the gulls' and cormorants' fretful cries where the surf lay moaning behind a belt of trees to the right was that, like myself, they kept mistaking the leaves for fish, and as often finding themselves disappointed.
Over my head hung chestnut trees decked with gold; at my feet lay a mass of chestnut leaves which resembled the amputated palms of human hands; on the opposite bank, where there waved, tanglewise, the stripped branches of a hornbeam, an orange-tinted woodpecker was darting to and fro, as though caught in the mesh of foliage, and, in company with a troupe of nimble titmice and blue tree-creepers (visitors from the far-distant North), tapping the bark of the stem with a black beak, and hunting for insects.
To the left, the tops of the mountains hung fringed with dense, fleecy clouds of the kind which presages rain; and these clouds were sending their shadows gliding over slopes green and overgrown with boxwood and that peculiar species of hollow beech-stump which once came near to effecting the downfall of Pompey's host, through depriving his iron-built legions of the use of their legs as they revelled in the intoxicating sweetness of the " mead " or honey which wild bees make from the blossoms of the laurel and the azalea, and travellers still gather from those hollow stems to knead into lavashi or thin cakes of millet flour.
On the present occasion I too (after suffering sundry stings from infuriated bees) was thus engaged as I sat on the rocks beneath the chestnuts. Dipping morsels of bread into a potful of honey, I was munching them for breakfast, and enjoying, at the same time, the indolent beams of the moribund autumn sun.
In the fall of the year the Caucasus resembles a gorgeous cathedral built by great craftsmen (always great craftsmen are great sinners) to conceal their past from the prying eyes of conscience. Which cathedral is a sort of intangible edifice of gold and turquoise and emerald, and has thrown over its hills rare carpets silk-embroidered by Turcoman weavers of Shemi and Samarkand, and contains, heaped everywhere, plunder brought from all the quarters of the world for the delectation of the sun. Yes, it is as though men sought to say to the Sun God: " All things here are thine. They have been brought hither for thee by thy people."
Yes, mentally I see long-bearded, grey-headed supermen, beings possessed of the rounded eyes of happy children, descending from the hills, and decking the earth, and sowing it with sheerly kaleidoscopic treasures, and coating the tops of the mountains with massive layers of silver, and the lower edges with a living web of trees. Yes, I see those beings decorating and fashioning the scene until, thanks to their labours, this gracious morsel of the earth has become fair beyond all conception.
And what a privilege it is to be human! How much that is wonderful leaps to the eye-how the presence of beauty causes. the heart to throb with a voluptuous rapture that is almost pain!
And though there are occasions when life seems hard, and the breast feels filled with fiery rancour, and melancholy dries and renders athirst the heart's blood, this is not a mood sent us in perpetuity. For at times even the sun may feel sad as he contemplates men, and sees that, despite all that he has done for them, they have done so little in return. . . .
No, it is not that good folk are lacking. It is that they need to be rounded off--better still, to be made anew.
**********************
Suddenly there came into view over the bushes to my left a file of dark heads, while through the surging of the waves and the babble of the stream I caught the sound of human voices, a sound emanating from a party of " famine people " or folk who were journeying from Sukhum to Otchenchiri to obtain work on a local road then in process of construction.
The owners of the voices I knew to be immigrants from the province of Orlov. I knew them to be so for the reason that I myself had lately been working in company with the male members of the party, and had taken leave of them only yesterday in order that I might set out earlier than they, and, after walking through the night, greet the sun when he should arise above the sea.
The members of the party comprised four men and a woman--the latter a young female with high cheek-bones, a figure swollen with manifest pregnancy, and a pair of greyish-blue eyes that had fixed in them a stare of apprehension. At the present moment her head and yellow scarf were just showing over the tops of the bushes; and while I noted that now it was swaying from side to side like a sunflower shaken by the wind, I recalled the fact that she was a woman whose husband had been carried off at Sukhum by a surfeit of fruit--this fact being known to me through the circumstance that in the workmen's barraque where we had shared quarters these folk had observed the good old Russian custom of confiding to a stranger the whole of their troubles, and had done so in tones of such amplitude and penetration that the querulous words must have been audible for five versts around.
And as I had talked to these forlorn people, these human beings who lay crushed beneath the misfortune which had uprooted them from their barren and exhausted lands, and blown them, like autumn leaves, towards the Caucasus where nature's luxuriant, but unfamiliar, aspect had blinded and bewildered them, and with its onerous conditions of labour quenched their last spark of courage; as I had talked to these poor people I had seen them glancing about with dull, troubled, despondent eyes, and heard them say to one another softly, and with pitiful smiles:
"What a country!"
"Aye,-- that it is !--a country to make one sweat!"
"As hard as a stone it is!"
"Aye, an evil country! "
After which they had gone on to speak of their native haunts, where every handful of soil had represented to them the dust of their ancestors, and every grain of that soil had been watered with the sweat of their brows, and become charged with dear and intimate recollections.
Previously there had joined the party a woman who, tall and straight, had had breasts as flat as a board, and jawbones like the jawbones of a horse, and a glance in her dull, sidelong black eyes like a gleaming, smouldering fire.
And every evening this woman had been wont to step outside the barraque with the woman in the yellow scarf and to seat herself on a rubbish heap, and, resting her cheeks on the palms of her hands, and inclining her head sideways, to sing in a high and shrewish voice:
Behind the graveyard wall, Where fair green bushes stand. I'll spread me on the sand A shroud as white as snow. And not long will it be Before my heart's adored, My master and my lord, Shall answer my curtsey low.
Usually her companion, the woman in the yellow scarf, had, with head bent forward and eyes fixed upon her stomach, remained silent; but on rare, unexpected occasions she had, in the hoarse, sluggish voice of a peasant, sung a song with the sobbing refrain:
Ah, my beloved, sweetheart of mine, Never again will these eyes seek thine!
Nor amid the stifling blackness of the southern night had these voices ever failed to bring back to my memory the snowy wastes of the North, and the icy, wailing storm-wind, and the distant howling of unseen wolves.
In time, the squint-eyed woman had been taken ill of a fever, and removed to the town in a tilted ambulance; and as she had lain quivering and moaning on the stretcher she had seemed still to be singing her little ditty about the graveyard and the sand.
The head with the yellow scarf rose, dipped, and disappeared.
After I had finished my breakfast I thatched the honey-pot with some leaves, fastened down the lid, and indolently resumed my way in the wake of the party, my blackthorn staff tiptapping against the hard tread of the track as I proceeded.
The track loomed-- a grey, narrow strip-- before me, while on my right the restless, dark blue sea had the air of being ceaselessly planed by thousands of invisible carpenters; so regularly did the stress of a wind as moist and sweet and warm as the breath of a healthy woman cause ever-rustling curls of foam to drift towards the beach. Also, careening on to its port quarter under a full set of bellying sails, a Turkish felucca was gliding towards Sukhum; and, as it held on its course, it put me in mind of a certain pompous engineer of the town who had been wont to inflate his fat cheeks and say: " Be quiet, you, or I will have you locked up! " This man had, for some reason or another, an extraordinary weakness for causing arrests to be made; and, exceedingly do I rejoice to think that by now the worms of the graveyard must have consumed him down to the very marrow of his bones. Would that certain other acquaintances of mine were similarly receiving beneficent attention!
Walking proved an easy enough task, for I seemed to be borne on air, while a chorus of pleasant thoughts, of many-coloured recollections, kept singing gently in my breast--a chorus resembling, indeed, the white-maned billows in the regularity with which now it rose, and now it fell, to reveal in, as it were, soft, peaceful depths the bright, supple hopes of youth, like so many silver fish cradled in the bosom of the ocean.
Suddenly, as it trended seawards, the road executed a half-turn, and skirted a strip of the sandy margin to which the waves kept rolling in such haste. And in that spot even the bushes seemed to have a mind to look the waves in the eyes--so strenuously did they lean across the riband-like path, and nod in the direction of the blue, watery waste, while from the hills a wind was blowing that presaged rain.
***************************
But hark! From some point among the bushes a low moan arose--the sound which never fails to thrill the soul and move it to responsive quivers!
Thrusting aside the foliage, I beheld before me the woman in the yellow scarf. Seated with her back resting against the stem of a hazel-bush, she had her head sunken deeply between her shoulders, her mouth hideously agape, her eyes staring vaguely before her, her hands pressed to her swollen stomach, her breath issuing with unnatural vehemence, and her abdomen convulsively, spasmodically rising and falling. Meanwhile from her throat were issuing moans which at times caused her yellow teeth to show bare like those of a wolf.
"What is the matter?" I said as I bent over her. "Has anyone assaulted you?"
The only result was that, shuffling bare feet in the sand like a fly, she shook her nerveless hand, and gasped:
"Away, villain! Away with you!"
Then I understood what was the matter, for I had seen a similar case before. Yet for the moment a certain feeling of shyness made me edge away from her a little; and as I did so, she uttered a prolonged moan, and her almost bursting eyeballs vented hot, murky tears which trickled down her tense and livid features.
Thereupon I turned to her again, and, throwing down cooking-pot, teapot, and wallet, laid her on her back, and strove to bend her knees upwards in the direction of her body. Meanwhile she sought to repel me with blows on face and breast, and at length rolled on to her stomach. Then, raising herself on all fours, she, sobbing, gasping, and cursing in a breath, crawled away like a bear into a remoter portion of the thicket.
"Beast!" she panted. "Oh, you devil!"
Yet, even as the words escaped her lips, her arms gave way beneath her, and she collapsed upon her face, with legs stretched out, and her lips emitting a fresh series of convulsive moans.
Excited now to fever pitch, I hurriedly recalled my small store of knowledge of such cases and finally decided to turn her on her back, and, as before, to strive to bend her knees upwards in the direction of her body. Already signs of imminent parturition were not wanting.
"Lie still," I said, "and if you do that it will not be long before you are delivered of the child."
Whereafter, running down to the sea, I pulled up my sleeves, and, on returning, embarked upon my role, of accoucheur.
Scoring the earth with her fingers, uprooting tufts of withered grass, and struggling to thrust them into her mouth, scattering soil over her terrible, inhuman face and bloodshot eyes, the woman writhed like a strip of birch bark in a wood fire. Indeed, by this time a little head was coming into view, and it needed all my efforts to quell the twitchings of her legs, to help the child to issue, and to prevent its mother from thrusting grass down her distorted, moaning throat. Meanwhile we cursed one another-- she through her teeth, and I in an undertone; she, I should surmise, out of pain and shame, and I, I feel certain, out of nervousness, mingled with a perfect agony of compassion.
"O Lord!" she gasped with blue lips flecked with foam as her eyes (suddenly bereft of their colour in the sunlight) shed tears born of the intolerable anguish of the maternal function, and her body writhed and twisted as though her frame had been severed in the middle.
"Away, you brute!" was her oft-repeated cry as with her weak hands, hands seemingly dislocated at the wrists, she strove to thrust me to a distance. Yet all the time I kept saying persuasively: "You fool! Bring forth as quickly as you can!" and, as a matter of fact, was feeling so sorry for her that tears continued to spurt from my eyes as much as from hers, and my very heart contracted with pity. Also, never did I cease to feel that I ought to keep saying something; wherefore, I repeated, and again repeated: "Now then! Bring forth as quickly as ever you can!"
And at last my hands did indeed hold a human creature in all its pristine beauty. Nor could even the mist of tears prevent me from seeing that that human creature was red in the face, and that to judge from the manner in which it kept kicking and resisting and uttering hoarse wails (while still bound to its mother by the ligament), it was feeling dissatisfied in advance with the world. Yes, blue-eyed, and with a nose absurdly sunken between a pair of scarlet, rumpled cheeks and lips which ceaselessly quivered and contracted, it kept bawling: "A-aah! A-a-ah!"
Moreover, so slippery was it that, as I knelt and looked at it and laughed with relief at the fact that it had arrived safely, I came near to letting it fall upon the ground: wherefore I entirely forgot what next I ought to have done.
"Cut it!" at length whispered the mother with eyes closed, and features suddenly swollen and resembling those of a corpse.
"A knife!" again she whispered with her livid lips. "Cut it!"
My pocket-knife I had had stolen from me in the workmen's barraque; but with my teeth I severed the caul, and then the child gave renewed tongue in true Orlovian fashion, while the mother smiled. Also, in some curious fashion, the mother's unfathomable eyes regained their colour, and became filled as with blue fire as, plunging a hand into her bodice and feeling for the pocket, she contrived to articulate with raw and blood-flecked lips:
"I have not a single piece of string or riband to bind the caul with."
Upon that I set to, and managed to produce a piece of riband, and to fasten it in the required position.
Thereafter she smiled more brightly than ever. So radiantly did she smile that my eyes came near to being blinded with the spectacle.
"And now rearrange yourself," I said, "and in the meanwhile I will go and wash the baby."
"Yes, yes," she murmured uneasily. "But be very careful with him--be very gentle."
Yet it was little enough care that the rosy little homunculus seemed to require, so strenuously did he clench his fists, and bawl as though he were minded to challenge the whole world to combat.
"Come, now!" at length I said. "You must have done, or your very head will drop off."
Yet no sooner did he feel the touch of the ocean spray, and begin to be sprinkled With its joyous caresses, than he lamented more loudly and vigorously than ever, and so continued throughout the process of being slapped on the back and breast as, frowning and struggling, he vented squall after squall while the waves laved his tiny limbs.
"Shout, young Orlovian!" said I encouragingly. "Let fly with all the power of your lungs!"
And with that, I took him back to his mother. I found her with eyes closed and lips drawn between her teeth as she writhed in the torment of expelling the after-birth. But presently I detected through the sighs and groans a whispered:
"Give him to me! Give him to me!"
"You had better wait a little," I urged.
"Oh no! Give him to me now!"
And with tremulous, unsteady hands she unhooked the bosom of her bodice, and, freeing (with my assistance) the breast which nature had prepared for at least a dozen children, applied the mutinous young Orlovian to the nipple. As for him, he at once understood the matter, and ceased to send forth further lamentation.
"O pure and holy Mother of God!" she gasped in a long-drawn, quivering sigh as she bent a dishevelled head over the little one, and, between intervals of silence, fell to uttering soft, abrupt exclamations. Then, opening her ineffably beautiful blue eyes, the hallowed eyes of a mother, she raised them towards the azure heavens, while in their depths there was coming and going a flame of joy and gratitude. Lastly, lifting a languid hand, she with a slow movement made the sign of the cross over both herself and her babe.
"Thanks to thee O purest Mother of God!" she murmured. "Thanks indeed to thee!"
Then her eyes grew dim and vague again, and after a pause (during which she seemed to be scarcely breathing) she said in a hard and matter-of-fact tone:
"Young fellow, unfasten my satchel."
And whilst I was so engaged she continued to regard me with a steady gaze; but, when the task was completed she smiled shamefacedly, and on her sunken cheeks and sweat-flecked temples there dawned the ghost of a blush.
"Now," said she, "do you, for the present, go away."
"And if I do so, see that in the meanwhile you do not move about too much."
"No, I will not. But please go away."
So I withdrew a little. In my breast a sort of weariness was lurking, but also in my breast there was echoing a soft and glorious chorus of birds, a chorus so exquisitely in accord with the never-ceasing splash of the sea that for ever could I have listened to it, and to the neighbouring brook as it purled on its way like a maiden engaged in relating confidences about her lover.
Presently, the woman's yellow-scarfed head (the scarf now tidily rearranged) reappeared over the bushes.
"Come, come, good woman!" was my exclamation. "I tell you that you must not move about so soon."
And certainly her attitude now was one of utter languor, and she had perforce to grasp the stem of a bush with one hand to support herself. Yet while the blood was gone from her face, there had formed in the hollows where her eyes had been two lakes of blue.
"See how he is sleeping!" she murmured.
And, true enough, the child was sound asleep, though to my eyes he looked much as any other baby might have done, save that the couch of autumn leaves on which he was ensconced consisted of leaves of a kind which could not have been discovered in the faraway forests of Orlov.
"Now, do you yourself lie down awhile," was my advice.
"Oh, no," she replied with a shake of her head on its sinuous neck; "for I must be collecting my things before I move on towards--"
"Towards Otchenchiri"
"Yes. By now my folk will have gone many a verst in that direction."
"And can you walk so far? "
"The Holy Mother will help me."
Yes, she was to journey in the company of the Mother of God. So no more on the point required to be said.
Glancing again at the tiny, inchoate face under the bushes, her eyes diffused rays of warm and kindly light as, licking her lips, she, with a slow movement, smoothed the breast of the little one.
Then I arranged sticks for a fire, and also adjusted stones to support the kettle.
"Soon I will have tea ready for you," I remarked.
"And thankful indeed I shall be," she responded, "for my breasts are dried up."
"Why have your companions deserted you?" I said next.
"They have not deserted me. It was I that left them of my own accord. How could I have exposed myself in their presence?"
And with a glance at me she raised a hand to her face as, spitting a gout of blood, she smiled a sort of bashful smile.
"This is your first child, I take it?"
"It is. . . . And who are you?"
"A man."
"Yes, a man, of course; but, are you a MARRIED man? "
"No, I have never been able to marry."
"That cannot be true."
"Why not?"
With lowered eyes she sat awhile in thought.
"Because, if so, how do you come to know so much about women's affairs?"
This time I DID lie, for I replied:
"Because they have been my study. In fact, I am a medical student."
"Ah! Our priest's son also was a student, but a student for the Church."
"Very well. Then you know what I am. Now I will go and fetch some water."
Upon this she inclined her head towards her little son and listened for a moment to his breathing. Then she said with a glance towards the sea:
"I too should like to have a wash, but I do not know what the water is like. What is it? Brackish or salt?"
"No; quite good water--fit for you to wash in."
"Is it really?"
"Yes, really. Moreover, it is warmer than the water of the streams hereabouts, which is as cold as ice."
"Ah! Well, you know best."
Here a shaggy-eared pony, all skin and bone, was seen approaching us at a foot's pace. Trembling, and drooping its head, it scanned us, as it drew level, with a round black eye, and snorted. Upon that, its rider pushed back a ragged fur cap, glanced warily in our direction, and again sank his head.
"The folk of these parts are ugly to look at," softly commented the woman from Orlov.
Then I departed in quest of water. After I had washed my face and hands I filled the kettle from a stream bright and lively as quicksilver (a stream presenting, as the autumn leaves tossed in the eddies which went leaping and singing over the stones, a truly enchanting spectacle), and, returning, and peeping through the bushes, perceived the woman to be crawling on hands and knees over the stones, and anxiously peering about, as though in search of something.
"What is it? " I inquired, and thereupon, turning grey in the face with confusion she hastened to conceal some article under her person, although I had already guessed the nature of the article.
"Give it to me," was my only remark. "I will go and bury it."
"How so? For, as a matter of fact, it ought to be buried under the floor in front of some stove."
"Are we to build a stove HERE? Build it in five minutes?" I retorted.
"Ah, I was jesting. But really, I would rather not have it buried here, lest some wild beast should come and devour it. . . Yet it ought to be committed only to the earth."
That said, she, with averted eyes, handed me a moist and heavy bundle; and as she did so she said under her breath, with an air of confusion:
"I beg of you for Christ's sake to bury it as well, as deeply, as you can. Out of pity for my son do as I bid you."
I did as she had requested; and, just as the task had been completed, I perceived her returning from the margin of the sea with unsteady gait, and an arm stretched out before her, and a petticoat soaked to the middle with the sea water. Yet all her face was alight with inward fire, and as I helped her to regain the spot where I had prepared some sticks I could not help reflecting with some astonishment:
"How strong indeed she is!"
Next, as we drank a mixture of tea and honey, she inquired:
"Have you now ceased to be a student?"
"Yes."
"And why so? Through too much drink? "
"Even so, good mother."
"Dear me! Well, your face is familiar to me. Yes, I remember that I noticed you in Sukhum when once you were arguing with the barraque superintendent over the question of rations. As I did so the thought occurred to me: 'Surely that bold young fellow must have gone and spent his means on drink? Yes, that is how it must be.'"
Then, as from her swollen lips she licked a drop of honey, she again bent her blue eyes in the direction of the bush under which the slumbering, newly-arrived Orlovian was couched.
"How will he live?" thoughtfully she said with a sigh--then added:
"You have helped me, and I thank you. Yes, my thanks are yours, though I cannot tell whether or not your assistance will have helped HIM."
And, drinking the rest of her tea, she ate a morsel of bread, then made the sign of the cross. And subsequently, as I was putting up my things, she continued to rock herself to and fro, to give little starts and cries, and to gaze thoughtfully at the ground with eyes which had now regained their original colour. At last she rose to her feet.
"You are not going yet? " I queried protestingly.
"Yes, I must."
"But--"
"The Blessed Virgin will go with me. So please hand me over the child."
"No, I will carry him."
And, after a contest for the honour, she yielded, and we walked away side by side.
"I only wish I were a little steadier on my feet," she remarked with an apologetic smile as she laid a hand upon my shoulder,
Meanwhile, the new citizen of Russia, the little human being of an unknown future, was snoring soundly in my arms as the sea plashed and murmured, and threw off its white shavings, and the bushes whispered together, and the sun (now arrived at the meridian) shone brightly upon us all.
In calm content it was that we walked; save that now and then the mother would halt, draw a deep breath, raise her head, scan the sea and the forest and the hills, and peer into her son's face. And as she did so, even the mist begotten of tears of suffering could not dim the wonderful brilliancy and clearness of her eyes. For with the sombre fire of inexhaustible love were those eyes aflame.
Once, as she halted, she exclaimed:
"0 God, 0 Mother of God, how good it all is! Would that for ever I could walk thus, yes, walk and walk unto the very end of the world! All that I should need would be that thou, my son, my darling son, shouldst, borne upon thy mother's breast, grow and wax strong!"
Papa – No beta, this is a junk food. You may be ill by eating this.
Son– Mummy please!
Mummy–No beta, papa is telling the truth. This is really a harmful product for your health.
Son – But on the T.V., the company says it nutritious.
Papa –beta, to sell their products companies tell lies.
Son – No, it is impossible. I think both of you are telling lies to save your money.
2 Status
Customer –Bhaisaheb, please show me a use and throw pen costing rupees two or three only.
Shopkeeper – Look this one. This is a very good and popular branded pen. You can’t find smooth and good looking pen like this anywhere and its price is only twenty rupees.
Customer –Are Bhaisaheb, I want a use and throw pen its price should not be more than two or three rupees.
Shopkeeper – Look this one. This is also a branded pen and price is not so much , only ten rupees.
Customer –Are yaar, I’m telling you again and again that I just want a use and throw pen, price should be two or three rupees, but you are showing me expensive pens and wasting my time.
Shopkeeper – For your kind information, I want to say that we don’t keep cheap pens in our shop and our customers are not from low status.
Customer – It means, I dare not to buy a pen from your shop and my status is not as your customer?
Shopkeeper – No doubt about this.
3 Love
Judge – ‘‘How can you say that you love your wife very much?’’
Accused–‘My lord! I don’t beat my wife. It proves itself that I love my wife very much’
4 Address
Girl – ‘‘Sir, you are looking very handsome like a film star.’’
Man – ‘Oh really? My wife too says this’
Girl – ‘‘Are brother, are you married?’’
Man – ‘Aye, I have a son too.’
Girl – ‘‘Then uncle bye… bye …’’
5 Slavery
Master- ‘‘On your request, I had released you but you have come back to me…why?’’
Slave – ‘Sir, I had been released by you, but I could not release from my own mentally of slavery, so kindly make me your slave again.’
6 Insecurity
First Muslim - Miyaan, why are you collecting chanda (subscription) for a Hindu festival, don’t you know that worship of statues is strictly prohibited in Islam ?
Second Muslim- Bhaijaan in this matter I just want to say- In India Jan hai to jahan hai.
Three fish lived in a pond. Their names were Anagatavidhata, Pratyutpannamati and Yadbhavishya. Some fishermen passing by the pond wondered, “Hey, we have never seen this pond. It seems to be full of fish. It is now evening. Let us come at dawn tomorrow and bag as many fish as we can.”
Hearing the fisherman, Anagatavidhata (the one who foresees a danger in time) called a meeting of all the fish and told them, “Haven't you heard what the fishermen were saying? We must move out of this pond tonight itself. As the wise men have said weak men should flee when a strong man invades or seek refuge in a fort. There is no alternative.”
“The fisherman will come tomorrow. I think we should not be here for even a moment more,” said Anagatavidhata.
“That's true. I endorse your suggestion,” said Pratyutpannamati. “Let's go elsewhere. Those who are afraid of foreign lands and those who are bound to their soil will die in their own country. He who can prosper anywhere does not die in his own land clinging to sentiment.”
Loudly laughing, Yadbhavishya said, “Your plans are not good. Why should we leave this pond, ancient home of our forefathers, because the fishermen have evil intentions. If it is destined, we cannot escape death even if we go elsewhere. Everything is in the hands of God. You cannot dispose what he proposes. Without his blessings people will die even if they have protection. With his blessings nobody can kill them even if they do not have protection.
Unable to convince him, the other two fish left the pond. Coming the next day, the fishermen took a big catch of fish in the pond. Yadbhavishya was one among them.
The female pheasant resumed, “That is why I told you that those who foresee the problem and those who deal with the problem when it arises are always victors and those who trust their luck are the losers.”
Her husband asked, “In that case do you think I am as stupid as that Yadbhavishya? Wait and see what I can do. I will siphon off all the water in the Sea and leave him dry.”
“Don't try to settle scores with the Sea. It will do no good to you. A weak man's anger will hurt him in the end.”
“Don't discourage me. Those who have confidence can confront stronger men. Doesn't the lion who is small in size slash the crown of the mighty elephant? Doesn't a small wick repel darkness? He who has courage is the stronger person. See how I will siphon off all the water in the Sea and make him dry,” said the male.”
"But hundreds of rivers flow into the sea. Your beak is just as big as a drop of the sea. How can you consume all the water in the Sea? Stop this tall talk,” advised the female.
“Not to despair is to win the Goddess of Wealth. I have an iron beak. I will toil day and night to siphon of all the water.”
The wife said, “Okay, if you want to engage the Sea, call all of your friends and try to do the job together. When they are united, it is difficult to defeat even a band of weak men.
Itsy Bitsy Spider
Itsy Bitsy spider climbing up the spout Down came the rain and washed the spider out Out came the sun and dried up all the rain Now Itsy Bitsy spider went up the spout again!
राष्ट्रीय ख्याति के चर्चित दिव्य पुरस्कार घोषित अखिलेश द्विवेदी, भालचंद्र जोशी, आलोक श्रीवास्तव पुरस्कृत
भोपाल, 28 मार्च 2011, शीर्ष ऐतिहासिक उपन्यासकार, कवि, चित्रकार एवं साठ महत्वपूर्ण ग्रंथों के सर्जक स्व. अम्बिकाप्रसाद दिव्य की स्मृति में साहित्य सदन, भोपाल द्वारा दिये जा रहे दिव्य पुरस्कारों की घोषणा 28 मार्च 2011 को साहित्य सदन, भोपाल में आयोजित एक सादे समारोह में दिव्य पुरस्कारों के संयोजक एवं चर्चित साहित्यिक पत्रिका ‘दिव्यालोक’ के संपादक श्री जगदीश किंजल्क ने की। आपने बताया कि उपन्यास विधा का, पांच हजार रूपये राशि का दिव्य पुरस्कार दिल्ली के श्री अखिलेश द्विवेदी को उनके उपन्यास ‘अनधिकृत’ को दिया जायेगा। इक्कीस सौ रूपये राशि के दो पुरस्कार क्रमशः खरगोन के कहानीकार श्री भालचंद्र जोशी(कृति-चरसा) और दिल्ली के शायर श्री आलोक श्रीवास्तव(कृति-आमीन) को दिये जायेंगे। श्री किंजल्क ने बताया कि दिव्य रजत अलंकरण प्राप्त रचनाकार हैं- श्री राधेलाल बिजघावने,भोपाल (उपन्यास-छोटी छोटी छतों वाले मकान), डॉ. सतीश दुबे, इंदौर (कहानी संग्रह-धुंध के विरूद्ध), श्री महेश अग्रवाल, भोपाल(गजल संग्रह-जो कहूंगा, सच कहूंगा), डॉ.श्रीमती सी.जे.प्रसन्नकुमारी, तिरूवनन्तपुरम (निबंध संग्रह-भाषा, साहित्य और संस्कृति चिंतन के कण), डॉ. रवि शर्मा, दिल्ली,(नाटक- विरासत), श्री अश्वनी कुमार पाठक, सीहोरा(बाल साहित्य-तुम धरती के राज दुलारे), डॉ. पशुपतिनाथ उपाध्याय,अलीगढ़(समालोचना-हिंदी नाटक एवं रंगमंच), श्री चंद्र मोहन दिनेश, शाहजहॉंपुर(व्यंग्य संग्रह-बयान एक दिन के बादशाह का), एवं श्री आनन्द सिन्हा, भोपाल(‘साक्षात्कार’ पत्रिका के श्रेष्ठ संपादन हेतु)। चौदहवे दिव्य पुरस्कारों के विद्वान निर्णायक हैंं सर्वश्री मोती सिंह(अध्यक्ष, निर्णायक समिति), डॉ. श्रीप्रसाद, श्री नर्मदा प्रसाद उपाध्याय, श्री हरि जोशी, श्री राजेन्द्र नागदेव, श्री प्रभुदयाल मिश्र, डॉ. राधावल्लभ शर्मा, श्री माताचरण मिश्र, श्री प्रियदर्शी खैरा, श्री मयंक श्रीवास्तव, प्रो. आनन्द वर्धन, डॉ. चंदर सोनानेए डॉण् रमेश चन्द्र खरे ए श्री कैलाश नारायण शर्माए श्रीमती विजयलक्ष्मी विभा एवं श्री जगदीश किंजल्क ने किया है। दिव्य पुरस्कारों हेतु देश के कोने कोने से कुल 165 ग्रंथ प्राप्त हुये थे जिनमें उपन्यास-15, कहानी संग्रह-21, काव्य-69, निबंध संग्रह-14, नाटक-4, व्यंग्य संग्रह-8, बाल साहित्य-20, समालोचना-7, पत्रिकायें-5, अन्य-2 ये चर्चित दिव्य पुरस्कार भोपाल में आयोजित एक समारोह में प्रदान किये जायेंगे।
(जगदीश किंजल्क) संयोजक: दिव्य पुरस्कार एवं संपादक ‘दिव्यालोक’ मो. 0997778277
cRight to information as a tool for good governance and against corruption-P.H.Pareekh
New Delhi:27th March,2011
“ RTI ACTIVISTS ASSOCIATION OF INDIA” organized a lecture on " ROLE OF RTI FOR EMPOWERMENT OF INDIAN DEMOCRACY" at Seminar Hall, Ramjas College Delhi University .
Hon'ble Mr.Pravin.H Parekh Senior Advocate, Supreme Court of India and President Confederation of Indian Bar has preside over the lecture.Mr Pareekh Said that Right to information as a tool for good governance and against corruption: Corruption thrives on secrecy. Individuals and institutions become corrupt only when there is no public scrutiny of their actions. The more they operate in the public gaze the less corrupt and more efficient they are likely to be. In this respect, the right to information can be utilised as a tool to fight the widespread corruption in India. In 2006, India received a score of just 3.3 (out of a maximum of ten) in Transparency International’s Corruption Perceptions Index, ranking it 70th out of 163 countries. This reflects the serious corruption problem in India - a problem that affects not only businesspeople, but a wide range of individuals. In India, tax revenue meant for investment in public services is an attractive target for abuse. In addition, Indian citizens - especially the poor ones - frequently face corruption in public service delivery via the solicitation of bribes or speed money.
A.K.Jha,CEOIndiaonPhone Said that there is a great challenge to connect each villages of India for RTI through phone. Revival of collapsed systems and sorting out people's problems is possible through this right, he said adding it is necessary for the common people to properly understand and use their democratic rights and responsibilities and exercise their franchise under the democratic set up. But, he said, the people's democratic responsibilities did not begin or end with casting their votes only since they are also required to nurture the democratic system in the day-to-day functioning. Mr Hasan Javed, News Producer said that Right to information as a tool for the fulfillment of economic and social rights. Anil Kumar Mittal Vice President said that , Citizens do not need to go to any office or even telephone anybody. They can enforce good governance from their homes. In the event, the public servant treats an RTI requisition with contempt or indifference, he faces the threat of paying a personal penalty. Dhani Ram ,Chairman and Assit.Professor Ramjas College Said that In its true sense, the RTI is a citizen's search for the truth about how his government functions -- a satyagraha. The movement is growing relentlessly and will lead India to the 'Swaraj' which we missed in 1947. A quiet peaceful revolution called the 'Right To Information' campaign is sweeping across the Nation. Sahnawaj Director institute of political leadership Said that I help this NGO to start a new segment on RTI
Sandeep Dubey President & Advocate Supreme Court of India said adding that the RTI Act was the outcome of the arguments of legal luminaries that freedom of speech depended on a derived right to information. If right to speech should be effective, there should be right to information. The right to live also meant right to live in decency and this included right to know. “Equality brings an obligation to share information,” he said.
Gopal Prasad RTI Activist & General Secretry today said that- This programme aims at improving the Right to Information legislation, the implementation and enforcement of such legislation and the utilization of the Right to Information as a tool for Democracy. Motto of our organization is fight for the right of RTI Activist of India. We start statewise training campaign and awareness programme for RTI Activists. Saraswati vandana by Tripti sonkar and Poem on corruption by Gaphil swami appeariciated by audience.
तटस्थता या यथास्थितिवाद को बनाए रखना पत्रिका का नजरिया नही होना चाहिए, तटस्थता एक तरह की चालाकी है। पत्रिका को जनपक्षधर होना पड़ेगा क्योंकि समाज और मनुष्यता की बेहतरी से बड़ा कोई लक्ष्य नही है। ‘पक्षधर’ के सम्पादक और दिल्ली विश्वविद्यालय के हिन्दी विभाग के सह आचार्य डा. विनोद तिवारी ने ‘हिन्दी लघु पत्रकारिता: नयी चुनौतियाँ' विषय पर व्याख्यान में कहा कि लघु पत्रिका का बड़ा दायित्व यह है कि वह व्यवस्था के साथ बहस बनाते हुए प्रतिरोध की रचना करे। उदयपुर के डॉ. मोहन सिंह मेहता मेमोरियल ट्रस्ट द्वरा आयोजित गोष्ठी में डॉ. तिवारी ने कहा कि व्यापक हिन्दी समाज तक पहुँचने के लिए लघु पत्रिकाओं को और बड़े प्रयास करने होंगे. गोष्ठी में ‘बनास’ के संपादक डा. पल्लव ने कहा कि अपनी भाषा और साहित्य के प्रति प्रेम और निष्ठा के लिए सांस्कृतिक हस्तक्षेप जरूरी है जिसका अवसर लघु पत्रिकाएँ देती है। उन्होने कहा कि समकालीन रचनाशीलता का श्रेष्ठ इन लघु पत्रिकाओं के मार्फत ही आया है। जरूरी यह है कि समाज विज्ञान और दूसरे अनुशासनों को भी व्यापक पाठक वर्ग तक पहुँचाया जाए। संगोष्ठी की अध्यक्षता कर रहे वरिष्ट आलोचक प्रो. नवल किशोर ने कहा कि व्यावसायिक मीडिया के विकल्प ढूंढना जरूरी है। साहित्य संस्कृति के संदर्भ में लघु पत्रकारिता को व्यावसायिक हुए बिना जनपक्षधर होने की चुनौती है। बी.एन. कालेज के प्राध्यापक अवम जन संस्कृति मंच के राज्य संयोजक हिमांशु पंड्या ने सूचना तकनीक के नये माध्यमों को अपनाने की जरूरत बताते हुए कहा कि जब अभिव्यक्ति की स्वतन्त्रता पर गंभीर खतरे दिखाई दे रहे हों तब विचार की थोड़ी सी भी गुंजाइश महत्वपूर्ण हो जाती है. संवाद में ऐपवा की डा. सुधा चौधरी, ग़ज़लगो मुश्ताक चंचल, मीरा गर्ल्स कालेज की डॉ. तराना परवीन, तेजशंकर पालीवाल, प्रकाश तिवारी, हाजी सरदार मोहम्मद, भंवर सिंह राजावत सहित अन्य प्रतिभागियों ने भी अपने विचार व्यक्त किए। अंत में डॉ. मोहन सिंह मेहता मेमोरियल ट्रस्ट के सचिव नन्दकिशोर शर्मा ने आभार व्यक्त किया. नन्द किशोर शर्मा
पहले कविता समय सम्मानों की घोषणा करते हुए हमें अत्यंत हर्ष की अनूभूति हो रही है। आप सबसे निवेदन है कि अपने सम्माननीय समाचार पत्र/ ब्लाग आदि पर इस सूचना को स्थान देने की कृपा करें ''पहला कविता समय सम्मान हिंदी के वरिष्ठतम कवियों में एक चंद्रकांत देवताले को और पहला कविता समय युवा सम्मानयुवा कवि कुमार अनुपम को दिया जायेगा. “दखल विचार मंच” और “प्रतिलिपि” के सहयोग से हिंदी कविता के प्रसार, प्रकाशन और उस पर विचार विमर्श के लिए की गयी पहल कविता समय के अंतर्गत दो वार्षिक कविता सम्मान स्थापित करने का निर्णय संयोजन समिति द्वारा लिया गया और समिति के चारों सदस्यों – बोधिसत्व, पवन करण, गिरिराज किराडू और अशोक कुमार पाण्डेय – ने सर्वसहमति से वर्ष २०११ के सम्मान चंद्रकांत देवताले और कुमार अनुपम को देने का फैसला लिया. कविता समय सम्मान के तहत एक प्रशस्ति पत्र और पाँच हजार रुपये की राशि तथा कविता समय युवा सम्मान के तहत एक प्रशस्ति पत्र और ढाई हजार रुपये की राशि प्रदान की जाएगी. कविता समय सम्मान हर वर्ष ६० वर्ष से अधिक आयु के एक वरिष्ठ कवि को दिया जायेगा जिसकी कविता ने निरंतर मुख्यधारा कविता और उसके कैनन को प्रतिरोध देते हुए अपने ढंग से, अपनी शर्तों पर एक भिन्न काव्य-संसार निर्मित किया हो और हमारे-जैसे कविता-विरोधी समय में निरन्तर सक्रिय रहते हुए अपनी कविता को विभिन्न शक्तियों द्वारा अनुकूलित नहीं होने दिया हो. कविता समय युवा सम्मान४५ वर्ष से कम आयु के एक पूर्व में अपुरस्कृत ऐसे कवि को दिया जायेगा जिसकी कविता की ओर, उत्कृष्ट संभावनाओं के बावजूद, अपेक्षित ध्यानाकर्षण न हुआ हो. इस वर्ष के सम्मान ग्वालियर में २५-२६ फरवरी को हो रहे पहले कविता समय आयोजन में प्रदान किये जायेंगे.''-- अशोक कुमार पाण्डेय http://jantakapaksh.blogspot.com/ http://naidakhal.blogspot.com http://asuvidha.blogspot.com
दिल्ली विश्वविद्यालय के हिन्दू कालेज में अज्ञेय की जन्म शताब्दी के अवसर पर विश्वविद्यालय अनुदान आयोग के सहयोग से 'आज केप्रश्न और अज्ञेय' विषयक राष्ट्रीय संगोष्ठी का आयोजन किया गया. इस दो दिवसीय आयोजन में अनेक महविद्यालयों के अध्यापकों, शोधार्थियों और युवा विद्यार्थियों ने भागीदारी की. उदघाटन समारोह में सुविख्यात आलोचक प्रो.नामवर सिंह ने कहा कि शब्दों का वैभव अज्ञेय के पूरे कविता संसार में देखा जा सकता है. कलात्मक रचाव और काव्य विन्यास के सन्दर्भ में वे मुक्तिबोध से आगे हैं यह स्वीकार किया जाना चाहिए, वहीं अज्ञेय को जन विरोधी समझ लेना भी अधूरी समझ होगी. उन्होंने कहा कि अज्ञेय को प्रयोगवादी कवि कहा जाता है, लेकिन अज्ञेय प्रयोगवादी कवि नहीं है, वे पूरी परम्परा के प्रतीकों में जैसा इस्तेमाल करते हैं वह सचमुच विरल है. कलात्मक रचाव और काव्य विन्यास के सन्दर्भ में वे मुक्तिबोध से आगे हैं यह स्वीकार किया जाना चाहिए, वहीं अज्ञेय को जन विरोधी समझ लेना भी अधूरी समझ होगी. प्रो. सिंह ने अज्ञेय की चर्चित कविताओं 'नाच' और असाध्य वीणा' को उधृत करते हुए कहा कि अज्ञेय के काव्य के सभी कला रूपों का दर्शन 'नाच' में होता है. प्रथम सत्र में ही कवि-संस्कृतिकर्मी अशोक वाजपेयी ने कहा कि हमारा समय मध्य वर्ग को गोदाम बनाने का युग है जहां दुनिया को विचार के बदले वस्तुओं से बदल देने पर जोर है. उन्होंने कहा कि इस सन्दर्भ में अज्ञेय का रचना कर्म महत्वपूर्ण हो जाता है कि वे विचार पर पूरा आग्रह करते हैं. वाजपेयी ने अज्ञेय की कई महत्वपूर्ण कविताओं का पाठ करते हुए कहा कि वे खड़ी बोली के सबसे बड़े बौद्ध कवि हैं जो शान्ति और स्वाधीनता का संसार रचते हैं. उन्होंने कहा कि परम्परा से हमारे यहाँ साहित्य और कला चिंतन साझा रहा है लेकिन हिंदी आलोचना दुर्भाग्य से साहित्य तक सीमित रही है. इस सन्दर्भ में अज्ञेय के चिंतन को उन्होंने महत्वपूर्ण बताया. वरिष्ट समालोचक प्रो. नित्यानंद तिवारी ने कहा कि सभ्यता ऐसे बिंदु पर पहुँच गई है जहां पूंजीवाद और प्रकृति में एक को चुनना पड़ेगा और तब हम देखेंगे कि अज्ञेय की कविता अंततः पूंजी के नहीं, प्रकृति और मनुष्यता के पक्ष में जाती है.प्रो. तिवारी ने कहा कि अज्ञेय में दार्शनिक विकलता का चरम रूप असाध्य वीणा में है,जो ध्यानात्मक होती चली गई है.अज्ञेय की कुछ बहुत छोटी-छोटी कविताओं की चर्चा करते हुए प्रो. तिवारी ने कहा कि बड़े संकट में छोटी चीज़ें भी अर्थवान हो जाती हैं, ये इसका उदाहरण है. इससे पहले हिन्दू कालेज के प्राचार्य प्रो. विनय कुमार श्रीवास्तव ने स्वागत किया और संयोजक डॉ. विजया सती ने संगोष्ठी की रूपरेखा रखी. सत्र का संयोजन कर रहीं डॉ. रचना सिंह ने वक्ताओं का परिचय दिया. दूसरे सत्र में विख्यात कवि और अज्ञेय द्वारा संपादित तीसरे सप्तक के रचनाकार प्रो. केदारनाथ सिंह ने कहा कि मौन अज्ञेय के साहित्य का स्थाई भाव है और उनका पूरा लेखन इसी मौन की व्याख्या है. उन्होंने कहा कि अज्ञेय की कविता पाठक और अपने बीच एक ओट खडा करती है और यह उनकी कविता की ख़ास तिर्यक पद्धति है. 'भग्नदूत' और इत्यअलम' जैसे उनके प्रारंभिक संकलनों को पुनर्पाठ के लिए जरूरी बताते हुए केदारजी ने कहा कि बड़ी कविता में वे रेहटरिक हो जाते थे वहीं छोटी कविताओं में उनकी पूरी रचनात्मक शक्ति और सामर्थ्य दिखाई पड़ती है. वैविध्य की दृष्टि से अज्ञेय को उन्होंने हिंदी के थोड़े से कवियों में बताया. केदारनाथ जी ने कहा कि अज्ञेय कविता के बहुत बड़े अनुवादक भी हैं. 'आधुनिक भावबोध और अज्ञेय की कविता' विषयक इस सत्र में दिल्ली विश्वविद्यालय के हिन्दी विभाग के अध्यक्ष और सुपरिचित आलोचक प्रो. गोपेश्वर सिंह ने शीतयुद्ध के दौर में हिन्दी आलोचना के सन्दर्भ में अज्ञेय के कृतित्व पर विचार करते हुए कहा कि भारतीय कविता श्रव्य परम्परा की रही है जिसे आधुनिक बनाने की कोशिश अज्ञेय ने की. प्रो. सिंह ने कहा कि इसी दौर में लघुमानव और महामानव की बहस में साहित्य को लघु मानव अर्थात सामान्य मनुष्य की ओर मोड़ने के लिए भी अज्ञेय को श्रेय दिया जाना चाहिए, जिनका मनुष्य की गरिमा में गहरा विश्वास है. उन्होंने कहा कि जिस यथार्थवाद की कसौटी पर अज्ञेय को खारिज किया जाता है वह ढीली ढाली है अतः कविता के इतिहास पर दुबारा बात की जानी चाहिए. जवाहरलाल नेहरू विश्वविद्यालय में भारतीय भाषा केंद्र के प्रो. गोबिंद प्रसाद ने कहा कि अज्ञेय बेहद आत्मसज़गता के कवि थे, जो ताउम्र अपनी छाया को ही लांघते रहे, अपने से लड़ते रहे. उन्होंने कहा कि अज्ञेय ने आधुनिकता को एक निरंतर संस्कारवान होने की प्रक्रिया से भी जोड़कर देखा है, जहां स्व और आत्म पर बेहद आग्रह है. प्रो. प्रसाद ने कहा कि इसका एक सिरा जहां अस्मिता और इयत्ता से जुड़ता है वहीं दूसरा आत्मदान और दाता भाव से भी. कवि और कविता की रचना प्रक्रिया पर जितनी कवितायें अज्ञेय ने लिखी हैं उतनी और किसी हिन्दी कवि ने नहीं. इस सत्र का संयोजन विभाग के अध्यापक डॉ. पल्लव ने किया. दूसरे दिन सुबह पहले सत्र में पटना विश्वविद्यालय में आचार्य रहे आलोचक प्रो. गोपाल राय 'शेखर एक जीवनी' पर अपने सारगर्भित व्याख्यान में कहा कि बालक के विद्रोही बनने की प्रक्रिया में अज्ञेय ने गहरी अंतरदृष्टि और मनोवैज्ञानिकता का परिचय दिया है, वहीं प्रेम के प्रसंग में भी उनका वर्णन और भाषाई कौशल अद्भुत है. उन्होंने विद्रोह, क्रान्ति और आतंक में भेद बताते हुए कहा की यदि इस उपन्यास का तीसरा भाग आ पता तो शेखर के विद्रोह का सही चित्र देखना संभव होता, उपलब्ध सामग्री में विद्रोह कर्मशीलता में परिणत नहीं हो पाया है. कथाकार और जामिया मिलिया के हिंदी आचार्य प्रो. अब्दुल बिस्मिलाह ने अज्ञेय की कहानियों पर अपने व्याख्यान में श्रोताओं का ध्यान कई नए बिन्दुओं की ओर आकृष्ट किया. उन्होंने आदम-हव्वा की प्राचीन कथा का सन्दर्भ देते हुए कहा कि सांप मनुष्य को विद्रोह के लिए उकसाने वाला जीव है और अज्ञेय की कहानियों में सांप की बार बार उपस्थिति अकारण नहीं है. प्रो. बिस्मिल्लाह ने कहा कि विभाजन और साम्प्रदायिकता के सन्दर्भ में लिखी गई अज्ञेय की कहानियां अब और अधिक महत्वपूर्ण और प्रसंगवान हो गई हैं. उन्होंने कहा कि अज्ञेय के साहित्य में विद्रोह वही नहीं है जो दिखाई दे रहा है अपितु भीतर भीतर पल रहा विद्रोह कम नहीं है. आलोचक और हिन्दू कालेज में सह आचार्य डॉ. रामेश्वर राय ने कहा कि अज्ञेय के लिए व्यक्ति मनुष्य की सत्ता उसकी विचार क्षमता पर निर्भर करती है और उनके लिए विचार होने की पहली शर्त अकेले होने का सहस है.डॉ. राय ने इश्वर,विवाह और नैतिकता के सम्बन्ध में अज्ञेय के चिंतन पर चर्चा करते हुए कहा कि उनके यहाँ विद्रोह जंगल हो जाने की आकांक्षा है जिसके नियम इतने सर्जनात्मक हैं कि व्यक्ति के विकास में कोई दमन न हो. समापन समारोह में वरिष्ट आलोचक एवं दिल्ली विश्व विद्यालय की पूर्व हिंदी विभागाध्यक्ष प्रो. निर्मला जैन ने कहा कि अज्ञेय को कविता में किसी भी वस्तु या विषय के ब्रांडधर्मी उपयोग पर आपत्ति थी और उनके लिए कविता तथा जीवन का यथार्थ एक ही नहीं था. उन्होंने कहा कि व्यक्ति की अद्वितीयता में अज्ञेय की आस्था अडिग है और वे इतनी दूर तक ही 'मैं' को समाज के लिए अर्पित करने को प्रस्तुत हैं कि उनका अस्तित्व बना रहे. प्रो. जैन ने अज्ञेय की चर्चित कविता 'नदी के द्वीप' को उधृत करते हुए कहा कि अज्ञेय अपने चिंतन को कविता के रूप में बयान करते हैं.उन्होंने शताब्दी वर्ष में केवल रचनाकार के गुणगान तक सीमित रह जाने के खतरे से आगाह करते हुए कहा कि क्लिशे में जाने कि बजाय पलट पलट कर देखना होगा कि दूसरी आवाजें तो नहीं आ रहीं हैं. समापन सत्र में ही कवि-संस्कृतिकर्मी प्रयाग शुक्ल ने कहा कि अज्ञेय सोचते हुए लेखक कवि हैंजो आधुनिक बोध को लाये. उन्होंने कहा कि हिन्दी को अज्ञेय की जरूरत थी. शुक्ल ने अज्ञेय की कई महत्वपूर्ण कविताओं का पाठ करते हुए कहा कि वे भाषा के सावधान प्रयोग के लिए याद किये जायेंगे. उन्होंने अज्ञेय से जुड़े अपने कई संस्मरण भी सुनाये. वरिष्ट कथाकार राजी सेठ ने इस सत्र में अज्ञेय के चिंतन पक्ष पर विस्तार से विचार करते हुए कहा कि उनका चिंतन कर्म और काव्य कर्म वस्तुतः अलग नहीं है .लेकिन यहाँ समस्या होती है कि क्या अज्ञेय की कविता उनके चिंतन की अनुचर है? आयोजन स्थल पर अज्ञेय साहित्य और अज्ञेय काव्य के पोस्टर की प्रदर्शनी को भरपूर सराहना मिली. आयोजन में अंग्रेजी समालोचक प्रो. हरीश त्रिवेदी, कवि अजित कुमार,युवा आलोचक वैभव सिंह सहित बड़ी संख्या में श्रोताओं ने भाग लिया.
पल्लव हिन्दी विभाग हिन्दू कालेज दिल्ली विश्वविद्यालय नई दिल्ली- 110007 मो. 08800107067
Once again spring is in the air and all around us. But in today’s world spring or no spring, how does one finds and if found how does one recognizes that fresh feeling... of love and happiness! So much of the dark and dismal is happening all around us that we are in a funny sort of a way-getting used to it. Our world is changing, its' climate is changing faster than we can cope and adjust with it. We are also changing with it,without a doubt. Others' misery does not touch or bother us anymore. News are just news; good or bad. Scientist definitely do not believe in it . According to them instinct of self-preservation is the only instinct a living creature have. It surrounds and culminates into all other instincts and emotions, we have. 
The year was the year '92-- the year of leanness--the scene a spot between Sukhum and Otchenchiri, on the river Kodor, a spot so near to the sea that amid the joyous babble of a sparkling rivulet the ocean's deep-voiced thunder was plainly distinguishable.
"0 God, 0 Mother of God, how good it all is! Would that for ever I could walk thus, yes, walk and walk unto the very end of the world! All that I should need would be that thou, my son, my darling son, shouldst, borne upon thy mother's breast, grow and wax strong!"
Three fish lived in a pond. Their names were Anagatavidhata, Pratyutpannamati and Yadbhavishya. Some fishermen passing by the pond wondered, “Hey, we have never seen this pond. It seems to be full of fish. It is now evening. Let us come at dawn tomorrow and bag as many fish as we can.” 
Itsy Bitsy spider climbing up the spout
तटस्थता या यथास्थितिवाद को बनाए रखना पत्रिका का नजरिया नही होना चाहिए, तटस्थता एक तरह की चालाकी है। पत्रिका को जनपक्षधर होना पड़ेगा क्योंकि समाज और मनुष्यता की बेहतरी से बड़ा कोई लक्ष्य नही है। ‘पक्षधर’ के सम्पादक और दिल्ली विश्वविद्यालय के हिन्दी विभाग के सह आचार्य डा. विनोद तिवारी ने ‘हिन्दी लघु पत्रकारिता: नयी चुनौतियाँ' विषय पर व्याख्यान में कहा कि लघु पत्रिका का बड़ा दायित्व यह है कि वह व्यवस्था के साथ बहस बनाते हुए प्रतिरोध की रचना करे। उदयपुर के डॉ. मोहन सिंह मेहता मेमोरियल ट्रस्ट द्वरा आयोजित गोष्ठी में डॉ. तिवारी ने कहा कि व्यापक हिन्दी समाज तक पहुँचने के लिए लघु पत्रिकाओं को और बड़े प्रयास करने होंगे. गोष्ठी में ‘बनास’ के संपादक डा. पल्लव ने कहा कि अपनी भाषा और साहित्य के प्रति प्रेम और निष्ठा के लिए सांस्कृतिक हस्तक्षेप जरूरी है जिसका अवसर लघु पत्रिकाएँ देती है। उन्होने कहा कि समकालीन रचनाशीलता का श्रेष्ठ इन लघु पत्रिकाओं के मार्फत ही आया है। जरूरी यह है कि समाज विज्ञान और दूसरे अनुशासनों को भी व्यापक पाठक वर्ग तक पहुँचाया जाए। संगोष्ठी की अध्यक्षता कर रहे वरिष्ट आलोचक प्रो. नवल किशोर ने कहा कि व्यावसायिक मीडिया के विकल्प ढूंढना जरूरी है। साहित्य संस्कृति के संदर्भ में लघु पत्रकारिता को व्यावसायिक हुए बिना जनपक्षधर होने की चुनौती है। बी.एन. कालेज के प्राध्यापक अवम जन संस्कृति मंच के राज्य संयोजक हिमांशु पंड्या ने सूचना तकनीक के नये माध्यमों को अपनाने की जरूरत बताते हुए कहा कि जब अभिव्यक्ति की स्वतन्त्रता पर गंभीर खतरे दिखाई दे रहे हों तब विचार की थोड़ी सी भी गुंजाइश महत्वपूर्ण हो जाती है. संवाद में ऐपवा की डा. सुधा चौधरी, ग़ज़लगो मुश्ताक चंचल, मीरा गर्ल्स कालेज की डॉ. तराना परवीन, तेजशंकर पालीवाल, प्रकाश तिवारी, हाजी सरदार मोहम्मद, भंवर सिंह राजावत सहित अन्य प्रतिभागियों ने भी अपने विचार व्यक्त किए। अंत में डॉ. मोहन सिंह मेहता मेमोरियल ट्रस्ट के सचिव नन्दकिशोर शर्मा ने आभार व्यक्त किया. 
पहले कविता समय सम्मानों की घोषणा करते हुए हमें अत्यंत हर्ष की अनूभूति हो रही है। आप सबसे निवेदन है कि अपने सम्माननीय समाचार पत्र/ ब्लाग आदि पर इस सूचना को स्थान देने की कृपा करें 
पल्लव
