From the river, to the ocean, to the pitcher, to the goblet.

Posted on May 14, 2013 by

The allure of the enduring saga of Beckett lies in the conflict among two erstwhile, bosom friends, turned deadly foes.
In James Anthony Froude’s portrayal in his ‘Life and Times of Thomas Becket’ , Beckett comes out as a proud, calculating, scheming egotist who doesn’t flinch from bending august institutions to fight his personal battles with temporal power and to obscure his own past malfeasances as a laity Chancellor. And the other as perplexed, exasperated, accommodating, and concerned and sorry at the crumbling of a close relationship And sad and penitent that he is forced to cut, against his will, a Gordian Knot, with a bloody sword.
This story of Becket and Henry II, formed the basis for a 1973 Hindi movie, Namak Haraam, ( The one that was untrue to his salt.). The movie with the story adapted into a secular environment of the current times, depicts the ego clashes of two close friends, one rich and the other poor. After the rich man (Amitabh Bachan) employs his thick friend ( Rajesh Khanna) as a mole in the trade union in his factory, The latter then refuses to toe the line of his erstwhile benefactor. The rest of the story broadly follows the history on which it was based, meandering eventually to a like gory conclusion.

By the way, the slow and steady edging out of Rajesh Khanna from his high pedestal as the reigning super star of Bollywood of the time, (which inconspicuously, started with the movie Anand), in deference to the relentless onslaught of the taller new kid around the block, Amitabh Bachan, culminated with this movie unseating him once and for all from his exalted perch.

Here is a song from the movie pictured on Rajesh Khanna, before the hapless man embarks on his saintly course towards martyrdom.
First for my translation into English, then the original lyric in Roman script. The link is to a video clip of the song. The lyric’s refrain is a play on the difference in meanings of words like Daria and Saagar in Urdu and Hindi.

From rivers to the ocean, from the ocean to the pitcher, from the pitcher to the unfathomable deep, the goblet.
Oh, oh, oh, all the dusks of my entire life drain out into this deep, this goblet.

How would a teetotaler know, oh, why madmen booze ?
From the moment I’ve learnt to drink, I have learnt how to live, and , how to die too.
When we,are drunk and totter and putter around ,
Oh,oh, oh , quenched a bit are all our worries of the heart .
From rivers to the ocean…….

Why worry over poor me, my friend, i’m smitten with sorrows, My whole. existence now remains in staying inebriated.
Who isn’t drunk, some get drunk with pelf, my friend, and some are intoxicated by infatuation,
Yet, now, men bawl out at me, ‘Hey, you Drunkard.’,
Oh, oh, oh, i’m not sure, did I or didn’t I have a name at all in the past ?
From rivers to the ocean……

Nadiyaa se dariyaa, dariyaa se saagar.
saagar se geharaa jaam .
Ho ho ho jaam me doob gayee hai yaaron, mere jeean kee har shaam
Nadiyaa se dariyaa …

Jo na peeye woh kya jaane, peetae hai kyon ham deewaanae yaar ahaa
Jab sae hamne peenaa seekhaa, jeenaa seekhaa marnaa seekhaa yaar ahaa
Woh ham jab yoon nashae maen dagamagaanae lag gayae
Ho ho ho dil kee baechainee ko aayaa thodaa saa aaraam.
Nadiyaa sae dariyaa …

Meraa kya main gam kaa maaaraa, nashae mein aalam hai saaraa yaar ahaa
Kisee ko daulat ka nashaa, kaheen muhabbat ka nashaa yaaaar ahaa
Woh kahakar ay sharaabee sab pukaaraen ab mujhe
Ho ho ho aur koyee thaa yeh to nahin thaa pehalae maeraa naam
Nadiyaa se dariyaa …

Posted in movies, music, poetry | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

I am a river in spate. You are the fringe of the deluge.

Posted on May 13, 2013 by

Here is a beautiful song, a cry of disenchantment, by the eminent Urdu poet, Shakeel Badayuni, sung exquisitely in poignant Kanada notes, by Pinaz Masaani..Mind you, in an Urdu Ghazal, every couplet stands by itself. There need not be a connecting, underlying unifying thread of thought or theme. I have made a conscious effort to find one in this song. Ms. Masani renders all but the fifth and sixth verses of the lyric in her song.

To start with, my attempt at translation into English, followed by the Urdu lyric in Roman script and then a link to the song.

Your agony makes it obvious. Yes, my life is unbearable.
Your concern for me, truly is dearer to me, than my own life.

I hope he doesn’t mind, — if I seek succor,
for the sake of my own peace of mind, in colors and scents,

These cool breezes, and the clouds that curtsy to me ,
Of what avail is one’s vision, if one cannot comprehend these cues.

I know now for sure. Here alone lies my destination,
As some one from the wayside, suddenly hails me,

I tell you, my mentor, the precise difference betwixt you and me.
I am a river in spate, raging. You are the fringe of the deluge.

I agonize much more, about the dissonances in perception,
than about the discussion per se.
He is bent on asking me the same thing, to which I can not reply, over and over again.

Come to think of it, Oh, Shakeel, if this is not sheer madness, what else could it really be,
i am a chattel of some one who alas,I can not reconcile to be mine own.

Maeri zindagee hai zaalim, tere gam se aashikaaraa
Taera gam hai dar-haqeequat, mujhe zindagee se pyaaraa.

Woh agar buraa na maane to jahaan-e-rang-o-boo mae
main sukoon-e-dil ki khaatir koi dhoodh loo sahaaraa

Ye khunaq khunaq havaayaen ye jhukee jhukee ghtaayaen
vo nazar bhi kyaa nazar hai jo samajh na le ishaaraa

Mujhe aa gayaa yakeen saa. Yahee hai maeree manzil
sar-e-raah jab kisee ne mujhe dafwatan pukaaraa

Main bataaoon farq naasih, jo hai mujh maen aur tujh maen
maeree zindagee talaatum, taeree zindagee kinaaraa.

Mujhe guftagoo se badhkar gam-e-izn-e-guftagoo hai
wohee baat poochhtae hain jo na kah sakoon dobaaraa

Koyi, aye Shakeel, poochae, ye junoon nahee to kyaa hai.
ke usee ke ho gaye ham, jo na ho sakaa hamaaraa.

.Here are two links to this nice song.

http://ekfankaar.wordpress.com/2013/05/07/meri-zindagi-hai-zaalim/

http://gaana.com/#!/songs/meri-zindagi-hai-zalim-tere-gham-se-aashiqara_967906

Posted in literature, music, poetry | Tagged , , | Leave a comment

Great poets may not always be great farmers.

Posted on May 9, 2013 by

When derided by Srinadha, the prosperous (at that time) and eminent poet, about his vocation of farming and his abject poverty, the equally eminent but extremely humble poet Pothana replies, ” What if a poet, ploughs his dreary furrow , what harm if he has to dig out roots, yams and tubers, to be able to feed the bellies of his dear wife and children? .” (Haalikulaina naemi, Kandamoolakauddalikulainanaemi, nija dara sutodara poshanaardhamai.)
True, what if he ate tubers, what if he was a humble farmer, he was a great poet,he was eminent,in his own right and in his own way, and he was a poet who is read, understood and quoted more widely than Srinadha to this day.
By an irony of fate, the mighty and arrogant Srinadha was forced in his old age by a reversal of fortunes to take up farming to eke out a miserable living but is thwarted in his endeavor by pests and pestilences,and dies while being dragged around and flogged in hot sun by the servants of an insensitive king, for not having been able to remit a few hundred bucks in taxes as a consequence of failure of crops..
Robert Burns was another farmer born into poverty, who composed great poetry while toiling at his plough He loved to read and was by and large self taught. The erudition born out of his voracious reading, and the dreariness of the farmer’s existence and its vagaries, soon, while he was still in his teens, started to spill out as spontaneous outpourings of catchy rhymes, mainly about the seeming absurdity of human existence, the depredations and depravities of the high, mighty and pious and the inconsistencies in the religious theories, dogmas and tenets commonly bandied around. He chafed at an iniquitous dispensation wherein, ‘holier-than-thou Willies’ committed unspeakable atrocities on the smug and hypocritical premise that the Almighty loved sinners more than the virtuous.
After a stint of schooling away from home to learn surveying and mensuration and following the illness and death of his father , the young man in his twenties returns with full enthusiasm to farming . He studies the science of farming earnestly and determines to be prudent, industrious and thrifty but unfortunately owing to factors like bad seeds and late harvest etc., his wisdom turns out to be of no avail to him, he concludes that he was destined mainly to be a poet . He returns to his glories as a poet, follies as a man, and despairs as a farmer and later to labors as an exciseman ‘ like the dog to his vomit, and the sow that was washed, to his wallowing in the mire’.

Here is a poem of his which I like.

Man Was Made To Mourn
By Robert Burns

When chill November’s surly blast
Made fields and forests bare,
One ev’ning, as I wander’d forth
Along the banks of Ayr,
I spied a man, whose aged step
Seem’d weary, worn with care;
His face was furrow’d o’er with years,
And hoary was his hair.

“Young stranger, whither wand’rest thou?”
Began the rev’rend sage;
“Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain,
Or youthful pleasure’s rage?
Or haply, prest with cares and woes,
Too soon thou hast began
To wander forth, with me to mourn
The miseries of man.

“The sun that overhangs yon moors,
Out-spreading far and wide,
Where hundreds labour to support
A haughty lordling’s pride; -
I’ve seen yon weary winter-sun
Twice forty times return;
And ev’ry time has added proofs,
That man was made to mourn.

“O man! while in thy early years,
How prodigal of time!
Mis-spending all thy precious hours-
Thy glorious, youthful prime!
Alternate follies take the sway;
Licentious passions burn;
Which tenfold force gives Nature’s law.
That man was made to mourn.

“Look not alone on youthful prime,
Or manhood’s active might;
Man then is useful to his kind,
Supported in his right:
But see him on the edge of life,
With cares and sorrows worn;
Then Age and Want – oh! ill-match’d pair -
Shew man was made to mourn.

“A few seem favourites of fate,
In pleasure’s lap carest;
Yet, think not all the rich and great
Are likewise truly blest:
But oh! what crowds in ev’ry land,
All wretched and forlorn,
Thro’ weary life this lesson learn,
That man was made to mourn.

“Many and sharp the num’rous ills
Inwoven with our frame!
More pointed still we make ourselves,
Regret, remorse, and shame!
And man, whose heav’n-erected face
The smiles of love adorn, -
Man’s inhumanity to man
Makes countless thousands mourn!

“See yonder poor, o’erlabour’d wight,
So abject, mean, and vile,
Who begs a brother of the earth
To give him leave to toil;
And see his lordly fellow-worm
The poor petition spurn,
Unmindful, tho’ a weeping wife
And helpless offspring mourn.

“If I’m design’d yon lordling’s slave,
By Nature’s law design’d,
Why was an independent wish
E’er planted in my mind?
If not, why am I subject to
His cruelty, or scorn?
Or why has man the will and pow’r
To make his fellow mourn?

“Yet, let not this too much, my son,
Disturb thy youthful breast:
This partial view of human-kind
Is surely not the last!
The poor, oppressed, honest man
Had never, sure, been born,
Had there not been some recompense
To comfort those that mourn!

“O Death! the poor man’s dearest friend,
The kindest and the best!
Welcome the hour my aged limbs
Are laid with thee at rest!
The great, the wealthy fear thy blow
From pomp and pleasure torn;
But, oh! a blest relief for those
That weary-laden mourn!”t

Here are two links to two compositions by Joseph Addison which Robert Burns is known yo have read, as an young boy.

http://www.bartleby.com/27/5.html

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/how-are-thy-servants-blest-o-lord

You may find a website of BBC devoted to Burns at this link

http://www.bbc.co.uk/arts/robertburns/works/man_was_made_to_mourn/

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

Tennyson and Elliot. And Rajni Singh.

Posted on May 8, 2013 by

Further to my previous post I find that Tennyson and Elliot had. Also written works on the story of Thomas Becket.
Here is a link to a recent book by an Infian Author contrasting the treatment of the legend of Becket by two great authors, Alfred Tennyson and T.S. Eliot

http://books.google.co.in/books?id=2Bonat_4_PgC&pg=PA131&lpg=PA131&vq=Becket

And here is a link to a profile of the author of the study.

http://www.museindia.com/authprofile.asp?id=629

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged | Leave a comment

A painful expiation to avenge a martyr.

Posted on May 8, 2013 by

One of a few classical movies that I had seen in the nineteen sixties was , ‘Beckett’, featuring Richard Burton and Peter O’Toole in the roles of Becket and Henry The Second respectively The movie was based on a play about Thomas Becket, written in French by Jean Anouilh,..
Having read James Anthony Froude’s ‘Life and Times of Thomas Becket’, it was natural that I was particularly keen to see the movie.
The movie opens with Henry Ii undergoing penance for having caused the murder of The Archbishop of Canterbury,
Here is what he says while kneeling at the the tomb of Becket.

King Henry II:
Well, Thomas Becket. Are you satisfied? Here I am, stripped, kneeling at your tomb, while those treacherous Saxon monks of yours are getting ready to thrash me. Me – with my delicate skin. I bet you’d never have done the same for me. But – I suppose I have to do this penance and make my peace with you. Hmm. What a strange end to our story. How cold it was when we last met – on the shores of France. Funny, it’s nearly always been cold – except at the beginning, when we were friends. We did have a few – fine summer evenings with the girls. Did you love Gwendolen, Archbishop? Did you hate me the night I took her from you, shouting “I am the king”? Perhaps that’s what you could never forgive me for. Look at them lurking there, gloating. Oh, Thomas, I’m ashamed of this whole silly masquerade. All right, so I’ve come here to make my peace with their Saxon hero because I need them now, those Saxon peasants of yours. Now I will call them my sons, as you wanted me to. You taught me that, too. You taught me everything. Those were the happy times. You remember, at the peep of dawn, when as usual we’d been drinking and wenching in the town. You were even better at that than I was.
The movie closes with a return to the scene, the King having been flogged as recompense for his sin., the King gloating thus, ‘Is the honor of God washed clean enough? Are you satisfied now, Thomas?’.

One can not be sure, whether St.Thomas was satisfied or not with the expiation, but one can find from the smug expression on the King’s countenance as he kneels down in penance, that he was happy, and relieved that he was rid, at last of ‘the meddlesome monk’ , a particularly painful thorn in his flesh and could smoothen quite a few ruffled feathers both across and far off from his kingdom, with this expiation, what if it were to be painful and humiliating.

The screen play was written by Edward Anhalt.

Here is a link to an YouTube video clip of the memorable scene from the movie.

And here is James Anthony Froude’s account of the same event from his book, Life and Times of Thomas Becket’

“Although the conspiracy against which he was fighting was condemned by the pope it had grown nevertheless too evidently out of the contest with Becket, which had ended
so terribly. The combination of his wife and sons with his other enemies was something off the course of nature strange, dark, and horrible. He was abler than most of his contemporaries, but his piety was (as with most wise men) a check upon his intellect. He, it is clear, did not share in the suspicion that the miracles at the archbishop’s tomb were the work either of fraud or enchantment. He was not a person who for political reasons would affect emotions which he despised. He had been Becket’s friend.Becket had been killed, in part at least, through his own fault; and, though he might still believe himself to have been essentially right in the quarrel, the miracles showed that the archbishop had been really a saint. A more complete expiation than the pope had enjoined might be necessary before the avenging spirit, too manifestly at work, could be pacified.
From Southampton he directed his way to Canterbury, where the bishops had been ordered to meet him. He made offerings at the various churches which he passed on
his way. On reaching Harbledown, outside the city, he alighted at the Chapel of St. Nicholas, and thence went on foot to St. Dunstan’s Oratory, adjoining the wall. At the oratory he stripped off his usual dress. He put on a hair-penitential shirt, over which a coarse pilgrim’s cloak was thrown ; and in this costume, with bare and soon bleeding feet, Henry, King of England, Lord of Ireland. Duke of Normandy, and Count of Anjou, walked through the streets to the cathedral. Pausing at the spot where the archbishop had fallen, and kissing the stone, he descended into the crypt to the tomb, burst into tears, and flung himself on the ground. There, surrounded by a group of bishops, knights, and monks, he remained long upon his knees in silent prayer. The Bishop of London said for him, what he had said at Avranches, that he had not commanded the murder, but had occasioned it by his hasty words. When the bishop ended, he rose, and repeated his confession with his own lips. He had caused the archbishop’s death ; therefore he had come in person to acknowledge his sin, and to entreat the brothers of the monastery to pray for him At the tomb he offered rich silks and wedges of gold. To the chapter he gave lands.
For himself he vowed to erect and endow a religious house, which should be dedi-
cated to St. Thomas. Thus amply, in the opinion of the monks, reconciliari meruit, he deserved to be forgiven.
But the satisfaction was still incomplete. The martyr’s injuries, he said, must be avenged on his own person. He threw off his cloak, knelt again, and laid his head upon the
tomb. Each bishop and abbot present struck him five times with a whip. Each one of the eighty monks struck him thrice. Strange scene ! None can be found more characteristic of the age ; none more characteristic of Henry Plantagenet. The penance done, he rose and resumed his cloak ; and there by the tomb through the remainder of the July day, and through the night till morning, he remained silently sitting, without food or sleep. The cathedral doors were left open by his orders. The people of the city came freely to gape and stare at the singular spectacle. There was the terrible King Henry, who had sent the knights to kill their archbishop, sitting now in dust and ashes. The most ingenious cunning could not have devised a better method of winning back the affection of his subjects ; yet with no act of king or statesman had ingenious cunning ever less to do.
In the morning he heard mass, and presented offerings at the various altars. Then he became king once more, and rode to London to prepare for the invader. If his humilia-tion was an act of vain superstition, Providence encouraged him in his weakness. On the day which followed it William the Lion was defeated and made prisoner at Alnwick. A week later came news that the army at Gravelines had dissolved, and that the invasion was abandoned. Delivered from peril at home, Henry flew back to France and flung Lewis back over his own frontier. St. Thomas was now supposed to be fighting for King Henry. Imagination becomes reality when it gives to one party certainty of victory, to the other the anticipation of defeat. By the spring of 1175 the great combination was dissolved. The princes returned to their duty ; the English and Norman rebels to
their allegiance ; and with Alexander’s mediation Henry and Lewis and the Count of Flanders were for a time once more reconciled”

Posted in Uncategorized | 1 Comment

The Lord humbles His arrogant devotee,

Posted on May 5, 2013 by

The spectacular Siva Tandava Stotram is believed to have been composed by Ravanaa,the demon emperor of Lanka, a learned but arrogant devotee of Siva,
The following video clip from the Telugu movie Seeta Rama Kalyaanam. depicts Ravana, attired as an ascetic, meditating on The Lord and seeking Him to manifest before him, but to no avail,
Nandi, guarding the abode of The Lord, laughs in derison at him, The enraged Ravana decides to uproot Kaikas Parvath,the mountain-abode of The Lord and take it to his kingdom and install it there He brashly embarks on this super-human feat, singing his powerful song extolling The Dancing Lord (Shiva’s Tandavam). He lifts the mountain, on to his fabulous ten heads, But ,The Lord gets annoyed at having been disturbed while dancing blissfully with his consort, and humbles Ravana, by pressing the mountain under his feet with His toe.
The penitent Ravana, decides to end his life, tears out his entrails in anguish and strums Rudra Veena over them in atonement of his sinful pride.
NTR enacts the role of Ravana while Ghantasala sings in praise of the Dancing Siva, in play-back.
Here is the video on YouTube:

And here is a link to the great Sanskrit lyric, and its purport in English

http://sanskritdocuments.org/all_sa/shivTAND_meaning_sa.html

Posted in literature, movies, music | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment

In a man-eat-dog world, it is rarely that you find a true pundit.

Posted on May 4, 2013 by

It’a dog eat dog or rather man-beat-man-world out here all around us still. And when things turn desperate or when man ceases to be a man, , it could even turn out to be a man-eat-man-world, sometimes literally.( eg. Stories of early immigrants into Colonial Williamsburg, the Andes plane-crash survivors, and occasional news reports of men who stocked theirs fridges with limbs of people whom they violated and butchered) ). In this regard perhaps we are no better than dogs or are far worse. Not that we do not know that mankind’s progress and survival lies in being good and civil, not just to mankind but even to most other animate and inanimate objects and things, but then concern your own existence and survival or your innate bestiality, overrides this altruistic concern for others.
Swami Vivekananda declared that the essence of his religeous philosophy was not to let even a dog in his country go hungry. Being a fim believer in the tenets of Vasudhava kutumbakam, ( the entire Universe is one family), he considered the entire world and its inhabitants as denizens of a single country.
In a memorable verse in The Bhagawatgita, Lord Krishna, declares that a learned man ought to be equanimous in respect of a dog as well as some one who eats a dog ( sunichavascha, svapaakaena panditah samadarsinaha).
Some interpreters declare that The Lord was implying that though both dogs and dog-eaters were both detestable, it is proper to treat them as equals. But I doubt this view. I have a feeling that the lord held the view that dogs were noble animals who loved their masters. Any one who cooks and eats such a noble animal was detestable.However it is for the stoics to treat them both as equal.
Some years ago, we had a dog, which adapted us as his own masters.. There was a cloudburst in our neighborhood over a decade ago,when some squatters who built houses within the bed a lake on its fringe, when the lake dried out in the summer, got inundated, they breached a retaining wall of the lake, causing a deluge in our neighborhood. A pup came floating in the swirling waters and found a sanctuary in a house in our neighborhood. It soon grew into a formidable Alsacian. When the dwellers of the house had to go abroad, the poor dog adapted us as his people, ascwe fed him a few morsels of food. He guarded not just our house but the entire neighborhood. He would insist on accompanying us wherever we went, He would climb into and ride with us not just in cabs we hired but even into public buses and local trains, much to our inconvenience and the annoyance of others.
The story of Maha-Prasthanam in the epic Maha Bharatam, comes to ones mind in this connection.When the five Pandava brothers and their spouse Draupadi, fed up with this, dog-eat-dog world, embark on a journey to the other world, a black dog follows them. Even as the four younger brothers of Dharmaraja, the eldest of the lot, , and their spouse too, fell off dead one after another, the dog keeps company with him on the weary trek.When at last a golden chariot turns up and the charioteer ushers Dharmaraja into the vehicle to take him to heaven, , the faithful dog climbs into the vehicle but the charioteer tries to shoo it away. And the learned and righteous Dharmaraja, refuses to ride in the vehicle unless his companion too is taken in. It turns out that the dog was none other than Dharmaraja’s father, the celestial Yama Dharmaraja, the equanimous God of Death.
I have a feeling that this story is a parable, an allegory, to illustrate the nobility of a dog, -a dog loves you as dearly as your dad loves you. (But in this dog-eat-dog world, we find dads and their children who hate or detest each other, but it is of course an exception.)
Coming to dog-eaters, we find that, it is prevalent only in a few communities and societies. One of the reasons perhaps is that meat-eaters in general eat meat only of
vegetarian animals. But we can see from the popular saying that, (when driven by hunger), the great sage Viswamitra ate dog’s flesh. There is a saying that even when driven by hunger, a lion would not eat a blade of dry grass (kaesari jeerna trunambu maeyunae?).. Mankind survives evidently because it is not so fastidious.
One is reminded in this context, of the shipwreck described by Lord Byron in his great poem, Don Juan.
I reproduce a few relevant lines therefrom here.

“The fifth day came, and the boat lay floating there.
—- What could they do? And hunger’s rage grew wild :
So Juan’s spaniel , spite of his entreating,
Was kill’d, and portion’d out for present eating.

On the sixth day they fed upon his hide,
And Juan who had still refused, because
The creature was his father’s dog that died,
Now feeling all the vulture in his jaws,
With some remorse received ( though first denied)
As a great favour one of the fore-paws,
Which he divided with Pedrillo, who
Devour’d it, longing for the other too.”
The father’s dog is as sacrosanct as the father himself, but one has to make an exception, evidently when it comes to ones own survival.(They say a guru is as venerable as your father. Having eaten the dog as good as your father , it is not long after, they drew lots as to whom first to devour, and settle on Don Jusn’s luckless tutor,. But,to his credit, however, Juan desists from the macabre feasting, and remains the lone survivor of the wreck)

We know of dogs pining for their dead or gone masters, and even laying down their loves in grief.. Rarely do we come across, a love of such sublimity, in humans towards their dogs or other pets. There are exceptions to this. One such episode relates to the death of Thomas Carlyle’s wife in 1866, recounted vividly by J.A.Froude in his, ‘Life of Carlyle.
The lady goes out driving in the Hyde Park.and lets her dog out for a run near the Victoria Gate. A passing carriage knocks it down and crushes its leg. The lady springs out of the carriage, takes the dog into her trembling arms, climbs back into the brougham, sits there grieving, with her arms folded around her pet, and then the beautiful and learned lady, breathes her last. A true pandit, wasn’t she.?

Posted in literature, poetry | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment