Presented hereinbelow are translations of one poem each from
nine Bengali poets who had embraced martyrdom in the early years of Naxalbari.
1. Saroj Dutta (encountered by police action on August
5, 1971)
Ratnakar
bloodied feathers
fall on calm river
a sky chewed up
through chest-smashing calls of parting
Hunter – the Nishadh
–
He stands, shameless,
stoic, stark in laughter,
Inebriation of
non-violence in hand, red eyes,
Bandit Ratnakar
awakes
sad questions in
eyes, he stays awake, stunned by this sudden pain
two eyes of one swan
– hurt to death
– strewn astray by
feet
Rishi, speechless in
shame, Vedic mantras make no answer
Golden dreams of
fortitude in eyes,
the Hunter has won
From ashes of
forgetting rises –
a past, aflame
Vessels of blood burn
in brutal wrath,
Rishi burns in the
hatred of denial
-- Today, by the
rice-bereft hut, does she still stay awake?
His lover, her
breasts are made of skin – does she hold a baby-skeleton to her?
In peals of laughter
the Dasyu poet
– he tears those
false flags of non-anger
Day of darkness,
fulfilled,
to end by the dimly
caving shores
…
2. Dronacharya Ghosh (tortured to death in police
custody, 6th February 1972)
Prehistoric
Broken bones
scattered everywhere, untouchable skeletons
One or two
half-complete animals;
No light cuts through
the vines & orchids to hit the eye
flint-sparks inside
occult caves make sunlight
Borderlines of
prehistoric humanity nearby
Mother of smooth,
naked youth –
One community- one
woman – piercing through the atmosphere
No other eyes
Ghastly sharp screeches
of beasts
The ancient shape of
skulls strewn afar
Suddenly,
stone-dagger stabs rabbit-heart
Warm blood – inchmeal
writhing and wriggling
Making love with own
mother –
there’s some
bloodshed in that too
Strewn astray, all
around, rocks, diamonds, and
remaining human
bones,
Passion for one or
two eldritch arts
Stiff, doughty roars –
desire of lioness before dead lion
Fades, slowly, to
identity
…
3.
Murari Mukhopadhyaya (killed by police firing in Hazaribag Jail, 24.07.1971)
Hiroshima
Askance
If a boy, sullen, with
ruffled hairs,
comes to me and says –
i wanted to be
established in life
why did you kill me?
if he asks –
i have never harmed
you
why did you harm me?
could you, with all
my bones,
slay those violent,
hateful monsters that
stand against life?
then why did you not
let me live?
What will i reply?
I am American,
we have killed that
student from Hiroshima
while he was going to
school.
…
4.
Timir Baran Sinha (beaten to death in Behrampore Jail, 24th February,
1971)
Walking, Sad
Some nights, I have
cried
like wild rain
Poured fire on blind niches
Turned mad
Walked sad
In darkness
Through fields,
bereft, after harvest…
…
5.
Amiya Chattopadhyay (beaten to death in Alipore Jail, 26th November,
1971)
Hunger of Land
in the Face of Guns
Rain! Rain! It rains all
day
In the hot hills of
the northern country
On minds, humane,
deep inside forests,
Blazing fires roar
out in waves
Frightened warnings
from the rear,
like brutal, caged
beasts,
Seek to pull back
minds that boil in fury of blood
Huzur, go
ahead
attack the flames of
the sun
foil all rebel-dreams
with your thousand rancid forces
Soldiers who seek for
you
Plucking experiences
from dark hollows of time
They shall raise
arms!
They shall make
vicious enemies fail
They shall make them
wither, one by one
Naked minds flare up
Forces billow up wild
in fury,
to lash out against
enemy camps
Heavenly dreams flop down like landslides
Inside hilly minds
Land roars out in
hunger in face of guns
O humans, look!
Babies born today, in
houses
of the workers and
the farmers
Poked by bayonets,
before the glinting sparks,
They dream of a new
world!
…
6.
Ashutosh Majumdar (Tortured to death in Jadavpur Police Station, 9th
March, 1971)
Weaver, Weave
Your Loom
What pledge shall I
keep? On what trust?
Even today
Two minds do not meet
What hopeless oath
shall I take?
Two minds do not meet
On what certitude
must I go? Those pure outcries
Hit the ears, lucid
evermore
Weavers weave looms
in my mind
Knots clutter the
mind up at times
It’s complicated
I think, with what
hopeless pledge must i move?
Whether it will work,
or whether it won’t? –
these two minds of
the two
Troubled, all the
while
Status quo brings
weariness
Weaver, weave on your
loom
Inside my mind
…
7. Tushar Chandra (Beaten to death in Burdwan Jail, 27th
May, 1971)
In the Villages
of India, Struggling for Freedom (Song-Lyrics)
In the villages of
India, struggling for freedom
Countless farmers
have risen
Behold, storm
approaches!
Storm of revolt approaches!
Dashing through the
vicissitudes
Hurling all that’s
tattered asunder
Severe hurricane
charges in
Farmers wage war in
great anger
Shattering all shackles,
hoisting the blood-red flag
Storm approaches…
…
8.
Kalachand Dalal (Encountered by Police on 12th May 1972)
Broken Clouds
and Broken Moon (song-lyrics)
Broken clouds and
broken moon
Playing hide and seek
I row my boat down
the wild river
Hoisting sails of
freedom
Playing hide and seek
–
The moon has leaned,
the morning star
Points at hints of light
Robins sing, cuckoos
croon in tune
The carnival of music
is on –
Playing hide and seek
–
May yellow leaves
fall today
May all that’s new
flood today
May foul breezes go
away
May the dusts go with
them
…
9.
Sudipto Bandyopadhyay (Disappeared while in underground and after being
afflicted with encephalitis. Last traced
in 1970.)
Song of Walking
the Road
The spring of 1970
arrives
When wintry mists of
melancholia
Were, like those in
throes of tuberculosis
Seeking for light,
seeking to breathe clean air
Ceaseless dark smoke
from chimneys
Had lit incense
sticks made of blood and sweat
The spring of 1970
Cuckoo-voice of
lovers sing
Love me, beloved
Love me,
And love the music of
our thoughts
The music is harsh
The song is ruthless
The right to love
Across all the countries
of the world
Beloved, such is your
love
Do you remember Shona Boudi?
You, who had defied Ahalya,
Beloved, do you
remember that day
when peals of spring
thunder rang through the northern clouds
and the daughter of
Terai sang out loud?
It is not your
evening lamp
It is torches, ablaze
You did not hear it
right
It is not happy
sounds of faithful festivity
It is the rifle
roaring out from the hands of Nirmala
I am that lover of
yours
Who walks along the
long roads
To bathe in the sun
Won’t you be my
sun-bathed lover?
The green fields
& forests,
Of the Santhal
Parganas, of Andhra
And, far far away, a
sound
Moves with the echoes
of livid explosion
Moves with the spring
of 1970
Moves with your love,
with my love
Stay, beloved,
My love is not that
tiny nest
It is but a dream – i
seek splendid rhythms of life
I walk the roads
I shall find them, I
will.
Lovers of spring
paint with blood today
Around the villages,
around human settlements
Far away and further
And yet so near
It forms a circle
The circle gets
smaller
And when the dark
night of the bats is over
It becomes that tiny
nest
Beloved, if I am no
more on that day
And, if spring
arrives,
Set the voice of my
rifle to tune
Remember, i used to
love
The song of walking
the roads
…
(Earnest
gratitude to Frontier Weekly and Milansagar for making the original Bangla verses
available in public domain)
