An Anthology of Response to Gita-The Despair

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An Anthology of Response to Gita-The Despair

Poem

On Kurukshetra’s field of formidable heroes,
Grouped in camp of old and our tomorrows,
Between on a chariot rode a God, and a man,
A hero of the age scanning opponents of reason.
Old dear shapes of fondness and reverence deep,
They who nurtured his flame and his bow grip.
Heaped consequences lay through foes to be felled,
A race ruined by the stock of heroes to be killed.
A great ruing rose and buckled the hero strong,
On knees he did plead, “Sire, spare me this wrong”.
The God looming stood over him, “Arise, O hero,
Whereof this lowly sight, this unmanly droop of brow?
Of the assembled heroes my chosen instrument
For the divine corrective I intend to implement.
What clouds thy mind and nerves by weakness,
How didst thou, dharma’s bow, gain this sickness?”.
The hero replied, “Mine are these, by familial blood,
Teachers and mentors as god who taught all good.
What heaven or earth by their blood I purchase,
No ease or savour for long in me will surface.
O retire me to some distant shadow far away,
Am sure of my conviction, thy words cannot sway.”

Note: A retelling of the Gita in the Light of Sri Aurobindo. Will be continued.