By: Bijay Kant Dubey
WHY didst thou play thy
matchless flute
'Neath the Kadamba tree,
And wound my idly dreaming heart
With poignant melody,
So where thou goest I must go
My flute-player with thee?
Still must I like a homeless bird
Wander, forsaking all
The earthly loves and worldly lures
That held my life in thrall,
'And follow, follow, answering
Thy magical flute-call.
To Indra's golden-flowering groves
Where streams immortal flow,
Or to sad Yama's silent Courts
Engulfed in lampless woe,
Where'er thy subtle flute I hear
Belovèd I must go!
No peril of the deep or height
Shall daunt my wingèd foot;
No fear of time-unconquered space,
Or light untravelled route,
Impede my heart that pants to drain
The nectar of thy flute!
The Flute-Payer of Brindaban is one of those poems of
Sarojini Naidu which remind us of the Krishnalila, Raaslila and Krishnadhuna
together with folk songs, dances and lyrics as sung, staged and performed from
time to time by the performers and artists. The love for Krishna, Rama, how can
we forget it, the love for Rama and Krishna, Krishna and Rama, Hare Rama, Hare
Krishna, Rama-Rama, Krishna-Krishna? Even on the terracotta plates the images
of chariots driven by Krishna and the Krishnites lost in Krishnadhuna can be
seen as figures and figurines and sculptures chiselled and carved out. To go
through it is to be reminded of Rashkhan and Surdas and Mirabai and their bhakti-tradition,
a link in that chain of tradition; of Chaitanya Mahaprabh, Jayadeva and so on. It
is a poem of love, pure love, amorous and spiritual love. Krishnaprem and
Krishnabhakti are the two sides of the same coin. Here the poem is both amorous
and classical in spirit and temperament. When the poetess describes, the things
relating to Brindavan, the banks of the Yamuna, the Govardhana hill and Gokul
conjure up, the mind gets lifted to idyllic, pastoral scenery with the
cowherdesses and milkmaids and Krishna playing the Divine Flute. Various
episodes theatrical and folk dance upon the mind’s place be they mythological
or religious in tone or tenor.
Where the Flute-player of Brindaban playing the flute,
under which kadamba tree, Ghanashyam? Where the Flute-player? The Divine
Flute-player playing the flute? Where He, Shyam? Under which kadamba grove?
Where He, where the cowherds? Where the Blue Boy of Brindavan with His Murali,
the Divine Flute and the Divine Melodies breaking? By which Yamuna bank?The
gopis are feeling impassioned, restless to hear the song, the musical melody
breaking and doing the rounds so musically, sonorously, melodiously touching
the hearts. The song of love is as such, the music of love as such as leaves it
not. The drama of love, pastoral love, spiritual love, classical love, how to
say it about? The impact is as such, the effect falling upon, so deeper and profounder.
In a very dramatic way she starts the poem as it is done in an opera. In a very lyrical, sing-song manner,
she starts the poem as it is in a Krishnalila.
Why do you play wounding my heart is the point of
deliberation and discussion for those mad in Krishnabhakti, madly in love with
Krishna, the cowboy, the lover. The melody is as such poignant that it ruffles
it all, that it maddens the listeners as such the impact of the song, the music
flowing down to. Wherever he goes, there grows a desire within to go with him.
The pines of love, yearning and aches of the heart, how to describe it, the
sadness of love? What is love, love earthly and love extraterrestrial? The
desire is that of a wandering bird, a wandering fellow to be with the lover
forsaking all the earthly, mundane connections that bind the soul and the body.
Such is the magic-call that the heart settles it not in worldliness, such is
the Krishnadhuna. Mira too felt it with her rapt devotional fervour in which
she gave it all to her desired deity, in the form of Krishna bearing the
reprimands and rebukes of the kith and kin as for becoming a saint and
abandoning the hearth and home. Such is the love of His, such is the devotion
of.
Even in Indira’s flowering gardens where the streams
keep flowing with murmurs and even in Yama’s courts where dhamma prevails in or
is upheld, she will come drawn to hearing the golden music if it is played. The
attraction of the golden flute is as such that she cannot avoid it. Even it is
dark outside, she will go hearing the call. There is nothing to be afraid of
anyone, shedding shame, name and fame she has given her heart to Krishna.
Without being bothered about time and space, the heart
remains tuned to that melody which is divinely mellifluous and melodious.
Whatever it catches the imagination, she will do; wherever the heart wants to,
will go with Krishna. Whatever be the routes travelled or untravelled, she will
take the course to in search of the Love Divine, the Love Idyllic and
Classical. Love is in the heart. Where to be misled to be otherwise? Where to
go leaving Krishna? The paths of love, pure love are not so easy to take to and
those who love truly know it well the pains and pines of loving. What is it
burning in love? How the flames of fire? How the candle melting? Such is love,
as such devotion. Without loving God
from the heart one may not find him; His Love. To be submerged in
Krishnabhakti, Krishnaprem is the essence of life. But true love opens the shut
gates of ignorance. Leave you the discussions of time and space if the heart is
with Krishna.
The Flute-Player of Brindaban as a poem brings in the
memories of Krishna with the flute sculptures and figurines made by the
artisans and artists. Beautiful idols of different colours dance before the
eyes and take the images away from here into a world of sweet imagery and
vision. Krishna, where Krishna, playing the Flute?
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