poem-'Sagarika'
Bathing in the deep blue sea,
On the pebbled beach sat thee;
Thy garments loose
Left scribbles on the shore profuse.
The affectionate Sun on thy body un-ornate
Left its golden paint.
With crown on my head,
In right hand archery held,
Stood in my royal attire –
Said, "I've come, O foreigner!"
Startled, from thy seat of rock,
Thou stood up with a shock –
Asked, "Why did you come?"
Said I, "Let thy mind calm,
Only I want to pluck flower
For God's worship, in thy bower."
Thou attended me with indulgent smile;
We plucked Juthi, Jati and Champa to pile.
To sort those in the basket sat together,
Worshipped Nataraj with our earnest prayer.
The mist was over, light flooded the sky,
Facing Shiva Parbati's smile did lie.
As rose the evening star
On the mountain top there,
Thou alone at home
On thy waist shone
Bright blue sapphire,
Round thy head, garland of flower.
Bangles in thy hands both –
On my way playing flute I quoth –
"Guest I'm at thy door."
Scared, stretched thy lamp my face to explore;
Asked, "Why did you come?"
Said I, "Let thy mind calm,
Thy charming person I'll adorn
With the decors I've borne."
Flashed a beaming smile
On thy face, its beauty sparked awhile.
The gold necklace on thy chest
I suspended, the crown on thy head set at rest.
Lit up lights thy mates, their frolic sublime
Flooded the entire clime.
Thy ornate person did flitter
The charm of the night's lunar glitter.
With my rhyme matched thy jingle,
Smiles at the sky the full moon single;
Light and shade to and fro
As the sea waves go.
Unwittingly, the day was over;
So, my ship raised its anchor.
Sudden was the wind adverse on my voyage,
Unleashed havoc, put the sea in rage;
Drowned my ship in the salt water
In the dark night with all my treasure.
With shattered fate, I'm again at thy door
Attired as destitute, my royal robes no more;
Saw at the temple of Nataraj
As before, was the decor of flowers;
While at night, the festive sea
Rhymes moonlight dance in wavy glee;
With thy silent face down in that fest
I stole a look at my garland round thy chest,
At my paints, listened rhythms of my song
Sway thee in ecstasy, all to me belong.
I implore thee; O bonny,
Once more hold thy lamp to me;
Now I'm no more crowned,
My archery no more to be found;
In the southern wind brought neither
My basket to fill in thy bower;
Only I've brought my lute;
Try please to make me out thou astute.
Translated by- Rajat Dasgupta
