The year was 1290 . A crowd had gathered around a clearing, where broken down pillars marked the presence of an ancient temple, now long gone. A young boy, just 14 years old, leaned against one of those pillars, deep in thought. Then, he began speaking, and the crowd fell silent, listening to his every word. He spoke without any notes, translating the Bhagavat Gita, from Sanskrit, which only the pundits knew, to the language everyone in the village knew and spoke – a variety of Prakrit which developed into the Marathi language. Even as he spoke, one of the men in the audience realized how momentous this event was, and how important this composition would be. He began writing down the words the young boy spoke, and this composition was named by its author and composer, the Bhavartha Deepika – the enlightening meaning (of the Bhagavat Gita). Now, the ancient, holy text, was no longer restricted to the pundits, but accessible to all, understood easily by them, composed as it was, in their...
Tender feet..
Wearing pretty anklets...
They should be busy running around, playing...
Yet,
They walk a tightrope..
Literally as well as figuratively..
Balancing themselves on the rope of jute,
as well as that of life..
I am no poet, and calling those few lines a poem would be doing an injustice to poems, but I couldn't help but pen them down, while I wondered what to post today for Navaratri. I couldn't post anything yesterday, since I was out all day with friends, and we were at Kala Ghoda when we saw them.. the tightrope walkers.
They are folk artists of a kind too, and their art is fast dying, in this fast paced life where we have no time to stop and see them perform. I have seen them recently only in rural areas, so it was good to see them in Mumbai, for a change.
And yet, even as I watched them, I wondered about the girl... and her parents. They lived in Panvel, hailing originally from Chhatisgarh (as they told me), and evidently managed to eke out a living from their skill. The young girl seemed to walk the rope effortlessly... even as her mother hovered, and held out an arm protectively...
She was a spirited girl, insisting that she had never, ever, fallen off, and to emphasize her point, knelt on a plate, and showed us that she could walk across the tightrope even in that position!
My Navaratri posts are usually about some form of the Goddess, her temples, or the festival, but looking over my photographs, thought this was the right thing to post - after all, she embodies the very spirit of the Goddess we pray to, doesn't she?
The only question is - Do we look at her the same way as we do the goddess? Do we treat her with the same respect, love and admiration? She certainly deserves it!
Yes, I was about to write that you are a poetess!!
ReplyDeleteIt was interesting to see her walk on that rope & what all they have to do to earn the livelihood. A little Goddess!
Beautifully captured and well narrated... Feels proud of the girl, yet sad too coz she has to earn bread for her and her family at that age...
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