A Translation of Rabindranath Tagore’s Song
Theme: Prem (love)
Raag: Desh
Taal: Rupak
Composed: 17 May 1889
Place: Pune, India
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It is the day to tell my beloved
in this monsoon,
in this torrential rain.
It is the day to open my heart–
In thunderous roars,
relentless downpours
enveloped in total darkness, no sun.
No one to listen in,
nary a soul around.
Face to face,
deep sorrow in our hearts,
the sky commiserates,
in unison–
The world bereft of souls.
Meaningless is the universe,
and a chimera this tumult of life.
Eyes drinking the nectar of the eyes
heart feeling the beating heart–
all else is a blur, nothingness.
What does the world lose
if I can unburden my heart?
In this Sraban rain, in my own corner,
If I speak a few words to my beloved
What gain or loss is that to anybody?
The wind rushes with yearning,
The lightning flashes every so often
The words I have been dying to utter,
in vain, can be said on this day –
of monsoon torrents.
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Note: Rabindranath Tagore’s songs explore a wide variety of themes. “Love and nature to spirituality and humanism” are subjects of his illustrious songs in Geetabitan. Monsoon, for Tagore, “was not a personal experience; it was a symbol of life and nature’s amazing variety.” He had felt the clouds add color to his “sunset sky.” Though monsoon officially has stopped in the Indian subcontinent a few weeks ago, there are still frequent showers in the “south eastern areas, and over the Bay of Bengal.” The October-December Monsoon is known as the Winter Monsoon in Madras, South Eastern India, parts of Sri Lanka and other neighboring countries such as Bangladesh. As people wait for the dry and dusty season in November, some areas get moderate winter rain. Other areas in the region like Madras and parts of Srilanka are getting ready for a Winter Monsoon.
Identical to Tagore, I essentially have a strong love affair with the rainy season. A rainy day video from a few days ago was shared by my niece Meeton while she was visiting our ancestral home. In the video, it was drizzling at first, which turned into heavy torrential rain. I reckon that I have almost forgotten the smell and sound of monsoon rain in Bangladesh. Carrying an umbrella, my niece was returning from the family graveyard after paying her respects to the departed family members. The earth was drenched in soaking rain as the sky opened to shower it. Her slow walking was a strong imagery. As I was listening to the once familiar rhythm of the falling rain, it took me back to the foggy memories of my childhood. I am no longer blessed to live in a tropical region to have six seasons. While in Bangladesh, the rainy season was my most desired time. Subsequently, the watching of the video and the wistfulness of childhood reminiscences have inspired me to translate my all-time favorite এমন দিনে তারে বলা যায়…এমন ঘনঘোর বরিষায়॥ (Emono Dine Tare Bola Jai…Emono Ghono Ghoro Barishai.)
Zeenat Khan writes from Maryland, USA
