The messenger of clouds / Meghdoot
1
What did the flute sing on the first day of the lovers' union?
She sang, `The person who is eternally far comes near.'
And the flute played on, 'I have found the one who is boundless even in the closest embrace, who exceeds all revelations even after being found.'
But then, why did the flute grow silent?
Because, we have lost the other half of the message. All we can remember is, I found my love. We forget, the person so near is also beyond our reach. We can see only part of the picture of love that lies in togetherness, passing up the other half, which portrays eternal separation. Therefore, we do not see with eyes of an ever-yearning compassion; the nearness pulls a curtain of opacity.
The wide open sky that rests between two individuals is so silent. Words are meaningless there. That great stillness has to be filled with a flute's melody. A flute can not sing without the space of a vast sky.
That sky between us, is now shrouded with murk, it has been littered with our daily business affairs, too many words, too much disquiet and ungraciousness.
2
On occasional moonlit nights winds drift; we wake up and find an aching heart; we recall how we have lost the one who lies next to us.
How will this separation end; this separation between my eternity and my lover's?
When we return home from work who is this individual we speak to. One among thousands; someone we have gone over and read thoroughly, a finished chapter.
But, in that individual where is that boundless, exquisite, unique soul who belongs with me? How do I find that soul lost to me, along shores of unrestrained longing.
When do I find a moment to speak to that soul once more, on a lazy restful evening heavy with the perfume of wild flowers.
3
Just at that moment early monsoon arrives wafting, waving its veil of shadows in the eastern horizon. I recall the poet of Ujjayani*. It dawns on me to send a message to my beloved.
Let my melodies soar, crossing the forbidden fortress of closeness.
But, then my lyrics would have to ride on tides of time to return to that first day of betrothal, that moment that has secured itself with all the tears and fragrances of earth's eternal monsoon and eternal spring, entwined with sighs of the Ketaki and the distraught, heartfelt offerings of the Shaal blossoms.
By the silent waters of the lake, in the rustling coconut leaves, from where clouds gather, I share the very own words of the Monsoon as my own. Let the missives drift to my beloved, where she, her loose tresses fastened in a bun, busies herself with household chores.
4
An endless faraway sky touches the face of the blue earth, tinged with hues of woodlands. And she whispers, `I am so yours'.
The earth wonders, `How could that be. You are boundless. I am little.'
The sky replies, ` I have chosen for myself a border of clouds.'
The earth sighs, ` You have starry jewels in your treasure, I have no light.'
The sky replies, ` Today I lost all my stars, suns and moons. You are all I have.'
The earth ponders, ` My tearful heart rides on tides of restless winds. Yet you are unshaken.'
The sky answers, ` Even my tears are restive today. Haven't you noticed? My bosom is as green as your verdant heart.'
And saying this, the sky bridges their eternal separation with songs made of tears.
5
Let Monsoon rain down on our separation, with the same soft chant of the holy wedlock between the sky and earth. Let the singular qualities of the beloved take us by wonder, like a resonant string of a lute, she frame her face with a blue veil, as blue as the distant woodlands; her dark eyes come alive with all the wonderful nuances of Meghmallar; Bokul blossoms wreath the turn of her tresses in a fulfilment of beauty.
As the gloom in the Bamboo forests shudders with resounding chorus of crickets, as the evening lamp lurches, shaken by sudden monsoon drifts, and dies out, let her arrive, leaving behind all the too near, domestic matters, treading the path fragrant with wet grass, entering into the realm of a deep dark night, into my solitary heart.
