Sunn Kabira

Respected Kabir Ji,

I hope you are doing well in Heaven. Where else can you find such godly men like you who, over the centuries, have inspired people to follow the noble path. Sir, I am not one of those enamored by your gospels of truth called Dohe for they have wrought more misery in my life than joy. So this is my letter of complaint to you and, if possible, you need to use the delete button in your super computer to erase the dohe and ensure future generations are not misled by your thoughts.

Childhood  Days

Every time the report card would be given out in class to be signed by the parents, I would always get a pinch of guilt. This guilt was not for my father who, out of his paltry salary, went out of the way to give me education in a fine Catholic school, but it was more of self-realization…..had I studied a little more and played a little less, had I listened more to my father and teachers who went hoarse trying to put the subjects into my thick cranium…..and less about the friends who were found more outside on the playing fields than at home. Maybe, I would have done better…at least slightly better… and the Red Sea on the face of the report card would have been a bit narrower. Father was always prompt to quote you:

रात गंवाई सोय के, दिवस गंवाया खाय ।
हीरा जन्म अमोल सा, कोड़ी बदले जाय ॥

It meant that I had wasted the night sleeping and the day eating away. The life, which was meant to be like a precious diamond, is now wasted and is no more valuable than a cowrie…simply nothing.  I tried explaining to my father in your words that studying books in life was not real education and he should himself learn the language of love especially when dealing with his misery stricken son:

पोथी पढ़ि पढ़ि जग मुआ, पंडित भया न कोय,
ढाई आखर प्रेम का, पढ़े सो पंडित होय।

I would, with bowed head and tears in my eyes, go to my father for his signature promising him better times ahead. No prizes for guessing what he retorted with… what is the use of repenting now when you wasted your days in unnecessary activities:

आछे / पाछे दिन पाछे गए हरी से किया न हेत ।
अब पछताए होत क्या, चिडिया चुग गई खेत ।।

Times of Youth

As I grew older, I tried using your wonderful lines on damsels at Durga Puja pandals. Sorry Boss for twisting the essence of your godly love to love of mine by saying “if you were to enter through my eyes, I would quickly shut them and then neither will I see anyone else nor will let anyone see you.” How romantic it ought to have sounded to the pretty faces.

नैना अंतर आव तू, ज्यूं हौं नैन झंपेउ।
ना हौं देखूं और को न तुझ देखन देऊँ॥

I tried convincing her by saying that he, who has not tasted love in life, is no better than a guest who enters a house which is lifeless and empty and gets nothing.

कबीर प्रेम न चक्खिया,चक्खि न लिया साव।
सूने घर का पाहुना, ज्यूं आया त्यूं जाव॥

Sadly, the pretty faces were not at all impressed by my knowledge of your gospels. Possibly, they were seeking someone who could recite Shakespeare and Wordsworth…the Desi Gully Boy had no place in their eyes nor hearts. So you couldn’t help me in my youth as well.

Corporate World

Then as time passed, I went up the corporate ladder with a number of people reporting. While the Human Resource Department would inhumanly impose the Ghanta (Bell Curve) Policy during appraisals, I just could not give the subordinates anything below 3 rating for which I was often pulled up for being too soft and unprofessional. Here too you were the cause of my misery I always got reminded of one of your dohas while doing the appraisals:

बुरा जो देखन मैं चला, बुरा न मिलिया कोय,
जो दिल खोजा आपना, मुझसे बुरा न कोय।

As I went out seeking weakness and failings in others, I first judged myself and found that no one was as bad as me. So if I expected to be rated good , how could I rate others badly. And so my climb up the ladder got halted as I saw more able and professional men and women walking and scrambling past me.

As if all the failings were not enough, now in my fifties, you have once again caused me great loss of face. As I go out looking for an able groom for my darling doctor daughter, the people on the other side ask me in hushed tones…”Does she drink? Does she take drugs? Is she aggressive? Beats up people?” All this image bashing because someone made a film where the protagonist is a doctor with your name…Kabir Singh.

In short, Kabir Das Ji aap ne meri zindagi ki waat laga di!

While my love-hate relationship with you was a lifelong story, one of your verses touched me positively.

जाति न पूछो साधु की, पूछ लीजिये ज्ञान,
मोल करो तरवार का, पड़ा रहन दो म्यान।

Which meant, never ask the religion or caste of a good man. And a good man I found recently called Salabeg. Not many would have heard of him and I too came to know of him when one of my friends’ daughter had her formal initiation into on-stage dancing of what is called Arangetram.  Here the beautiful young girl danced on lines composed by Salabeg which was surprising. How on earth could a TamBram take to serious dance on lines written by a man whose name definitely sounded less Brahmanical and more Persian? On asking my friend I came to know about the man a little more.

Salabeg was the son of a Mughal Subedar called Lalbeg who, during one of the military campaigns, married an adivasi widow. As soon as Salabeg was old enough, he took up fighting and joined his father in the military campaigns. Folklore says that once, when he was badly injured, his mother asked him to chant the name of Lord Krishna which he did and miraculously he got cured. Feeling indebted to Lord Krishna, he came to know more about him from his mother who explained that Lord Jagannath is the incarnation of Krishna. Salabeg went to Puri but was refused entry into the Jagannath Temple as he was a Muslim. Disappointed, but not completely put off, Salabeg went to Vrindavan where he started living an ascetic’s life along with other sadhus and began reciting bhajans in praise of Krishna. After a year, he decided to go back to Puri to see the Ratha Yatra festival but suddenly fell ill before reaching the town. He feared he would not reach in time to see the festival so he offered prayers to Lord Jagannath asking him to wait till he arrived. It is said that on the return leg of the journey, Lord Jagannath’s cart did not move until Salabeg arrived and got a darshan of the Lord.

Salabeg composed many hymns in praise of Lord Jagannath. He was cremated at the same place where the Lord’s cart stood still for him. Even to this day, every year Lord Jagannath’s cart stays for a while near the Samadhi of this great poet devotee. Salabeg did not write in chaste Oriya and, possibly, that is why his popularity among the local people is even more. He was instrumental in the local language entering the sanctum sanctorum which till then was an exclusive domain of Sanskrit language. Here’s an excerpt from his poem on Ratha Yatra:

Brother Balabhadra leads the way,

In the middle comes,

The sister with a pretty moon-face,

Mingling with the noisy crowd

The Dark One follows behind,

Says Salabega

This was in early seventeenth century and here we are, after three hundred years, fighting over temples, cows and chants of one Lord as opposed to the Lord of another religion.

हिन्दू कहें मोहि राम पियारा, तुर्क कहें रहमाना,
आपस में दोउ लड़ी-लड़ी  मुए, मरम न कोउ जाना।

Dear Kabirji, it is not me alone who gives a miss to your message of love, brotherhood and compassion in today’s world but also a vast majority of people of my beloved nation. No wonder you vanished when the different sects of people were fighting over your corpse to lay claim.  They seem to be still fighting against each other since then not just in your name but more.

In this turmoil, blessed is the child who, so pure and untouched by such worldly schisms, dances to the music and composition that makes her reach a blissful trance.

SS