The Warrior and The Poet

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The Warrior and The Poet

Poem — Part I

On the distant banks of serene swelling Ganges
Occurred a chance encounter of two strangers.
One swarthy and gnarled like an ancient oak,
The other a modest proportioned shape took.

Each saw the other so different yet seemed kin
By some forgotten ties or by the spirit within.
The swarthy one a languorous lion in his lair
Bore in his countenance a hero’s native flair.

The modest one possessed more subtle graces,
The furrowed forehead that marks musing faces.
Beside the low deep hum of Ganges’ lullaby
The strangers ventured nearer greeting by eye.

Began the modest shaped, ‘May auspicious One
Shine upon all thy days’, and replied a deep tone
‘Upon you too may His favours fall brimming’,
With gestures of kindred men made beginning

Of their colloquy upon mighty Ganges ancient.
‘What name bearest thou stranger of sturdy bent?
Like an old weary steel of many bloody essays
Inked upon the hostiles crossing thy just gaze.’

He replied, ‘Many names by which I am known
None in particular have I cared to own. 
But for ease of our speech call me Warrior.
For it is my Dharma to till the fields of war.’

‘And thou, what purpose yokes thee to the sun
For thou seemest shaped when this cycle had begun.’
‘Warrior, you see subtle and indeed sayest true
For I am a Poet of many musings beneath this azure.’

‘Say Warrior, what campaigns on near or distant shores
Hast thou waged? By marches on land or by vast waters
Conducted thy traffic of blood from vanquished men,
What banner victorious bore thou for thy nation?’

‘Poet, many nations were mine, many were my banners,
I have borne many bodies of heroes throughout the ages.’
‘Warrior, wouldst I know these campaigns of thine
Or I would hear thee to enrich the thoughts of mine.’

‘Poet, I know not thy readings, nor thy thought’s dwelling.
And this age is dull and grim beyond any telling. 
But to thy keen query and thy deep musing eyes
I shall outline the chief element of some my stories.’

‘I began on banks of the older and mightier Saraswati
At the dawn of this age now forgotten to history.
I have shielded the vast hostile western borders,
Swept back sheer waves of many barbarian hordes.’

‘Mine the pauseless steed, mine the swiftest arrow,
The Battle of Ten Kings witnessed my spear’s throw.
I have been a king of some might and hasty means,
And turned by counsel to a Seer gazing Spirit scenes.’

‘My violent will tutored a god-prince in the ways
Of intent and bow and arrow and their deployings. 
My tutelage guided the prince in lordship of this nation,
Who yet conducts all hearts to their soul destination.’

‘In the Age of Kurus crowded with great heroes aplenty,
Like a pride of lions grown too mighty and too haughty,
There my most memorable sojourn on Kuru’s fields,
A veritable clash of men grown to the height of gods.’