Rain, as Catharsis of the Sky

I wrote this in 1993, and I have now trans­lat­ed it to Eng­lish. I am includ­ing both ver­sions here. Eng­lish first.

The Sky had spent many days har­bor­ing its sor­rows with­in itself. There were many clouds over its usu­al­ly clear, light and cloud­less frame of mind, due to the weight of many days of con­flict.

We often find a unique rep­re­sen­ta­tion of our emo­tions in many facets of nature. The pangs of despair and the ache result­ing from it had found sym­bol­ic rep­re­sen­ta­tion in the light­ning that ensued.

The sud­den, unex­pect­ed, short-lived, but blind­ing light­ning was slash­ing against the Sky’s heart. The cru­el, sav­age light­ning turned the help­less Sky into a wound­ed soul.

The Wind was con­vey­ing the state of this wound­ed Sky every­where; it was run­ning in all direc­tions, fran­ti­cal­ly search­ing for help. But no one lis­tened. The flo­ra and fau­na on the Earth couldn’t look at this depressed state of the Sky, and want­ed to help, but they were root­ed to the Earth. They were not free to leave the con­fines of their Moth­er Earth. The trees were sway­ing lis­ten­ing to the sto­ry from the wind, trem­bling in vain attempts to reach out to the Sky, but they couldn’t move.

Notwith­stand­ing all this, the tor­ture of the light­ning con­tin­ued. The Sky’s pains and anguish grew. There were thun­der­storms. The Sky began to shud­der. After cross­ing its lim­it for grief, the Sky, already drawn to the point of tears, began cry­ing. Teardrops began to fall. As if it was pour­ing its heart out in cry­ing, rain began to fall.

The Earth, who had been wit­ness­ing all this silent­ly, ran to the res­cue. The Earth’s soil emanat­ed that unique fra­grance, reach­ing out to the Sky, offer­ing a shoul­der for it to cry. The Sky was out­pour­ing all its grief that it had held for a very long time, and kept rain­ing, seek­ing the warmth of the Earth. The essence of this embrace between Earth and Sky was sym­bol­ized by that unique fra­grance, where they met and caressed each oth­er…

Now the orig­i­nal Marathi ver­sion:

आभाळ अनेक दिवसांचे ओझं स्वतःकडेच बाळगून होतं. खूप दिवसांच्या संघर्षाच्या वजनाने त्याच्या एरवीच्या स्वछ, हलक्या, निरभ्र मनस्थितीवर मळभ चढलं होतं.

आपल्या भावनांचं मूर्त स्वरूप सृष्टीत एका अलौकिक समर्पकपणाने आढळतं, जसं काही दिवसांपूर्वी प्रयत्न करून झगडणारी झाडांची मुळे दिसली. गेल्या काही महिन्यातल्या दुखांच्या वेन्दानांना व होणाऱ्या यातनांना विजांच्यास्वरूपात मूर्तता सापडली.

त्यांच्या अचानक, अनपेक्षित, तात्कालिक तीव्रतेने आंधळं करणाऱ्या विजा आभाळाच्या काळजाला ओरबाडत होत्या. त्या भीषण, क्रूर विजांनी असह्य आभाळाला जखमी करून सोडलं.

आभाळाची ही घायाळ दश वारा सर्वत्र सांगत सुटला, ही घटना सर्व दिशांना पसरवत गेला, मदतीच्या शोधात तो सैरावैरा धावत होता.

पण कोणीही आलं नाही. आभाळाची ही अवस्था धर्तीवरच्या सृष्टीला पाहवत नव्हती. पण ती धरतीला बांधली होती, मदतीला धावायला मुक्त नव्हती. वार्याची वर्णनं ऐकून झाडंविव्हळत होती, व्याकुळतेने आभाळापर्यंत पोहोचायचा प्रयत्न करत होती पण त्यांना आपल्या जागेवरून हलता येईना.

ह्या सर्वाला न जुमानता विजांचा छळ चालूच होता. आभाळाच्या यातना वाढत गेल्या. मेघगर्जना होऊ लागल्या. आभाळ हुंदके देऊ लागलं. प्रतीकार्शक्तीची सीमारेषा ओलांडल्यावर ओथंबलेल्या अवस्थेत अस्वस्थ असलेलं आभाळ रडू लागलं. अश्रू वाहू लागले. आभाळ ढसाढसा रडत असल्यासारखा पाउस पडू लागला.

आत्तापर्यंत शांत बसलेली धर्तीही आभाळाच्या मदतीला धाऊन आली. आपल्या मातीचा दर्वळत्या वासाने तिने आभाळापर्यंत आपल्या आधाराचा खांदा पोहोचवला. आपलं साठलेलं ओझं आभाळ वाहू देत होतं, स्वतःला धर्तीपर्यंत पोहोचवत होतं.

धरती व आभाळाच्या ह्या मीलनाचं सारांश त्या मातीच्या दरवळत्या वासात सामावलेलं होतं…

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  • छान

  • Sanat Ger­sap­pa

    Nice and pret­ty accu­rate.

  • Thank you, folks!

  • Akki­man

    Very nice

  • Jay

    Very nice­ly writ­ten… You know what I dont know Marathi much, but could learn mean of may Marathi words from this post. Once sug­ges­tion, can you put this post in col­umn lay­out, it would be so easy to map Eng­lish ver­sion to its orig­i­nal Marathi ver­sion.

  • Thank you, Akshay, Jay.

    Jay, thanks for the sug­ges­tion, but I don’t think the trans­la­tion is the key point of the post. If it were, your sug­ges­tion would’ve been most per­ti­nent and use­ful.

  • exquis­ite. reminds me of a song taron se saj ke apne suraj se dekho dhar­ti chali milne. I loved the orig­i­nal in marathi much more because I feel there are some words, phras­es and expres­sions which can not be described in a trans­la­tion. Apra­tim.

    • Thank you, Tiku­li­cious! The song ref­er­ence is amaz­ing 🙂 Thank you so much.

      • 🙂 Do vis­it my blog some­time. Would love your views.

  • Look­ing for­ward to read­ing the Marathi ver­sion once I’ve start­ed study­ing it! (my plan for the ear­ly 2012 stay in Pune)

    • Wow! You’re amaz­ing! Can’t believe it…awesome.

  • I know the trans­la­tion is not the point, but I end­ed up with my own ver­sion, because of this kee­da I have. Apolo­gies in advance:

    It’s not my usu­al loose trans­la­tion (swaira), and I’ve tried to keep it faith­ful, with lit­tle lib­er­ties.

    Sky
    was worn down by the bag­gage it had car­ried for a long time. The
    con­flicts of those days had over­cloud­ed its oth­er­wise clear, unclut­tered
    mind.

    Many
    a times our emo­tions find uncan­ny par­al­lels in nature. The lash­ing
    pains and the despair­ing grief, pent up with­in for days and weeks, found
    their embod­i­ment in the light­en­ing. The pangs of grief, unan­tic­i­pat­ed,
    acute, blind­ing, tore at its heart, left the hap­less sky bruised.

    The
    wind spread the news of the plight of the sky in every which direc­tion,
    fran­ti­cal­ly search­ing for help. But no one offered to help. Down on
    earth, the trees watched the sky help­less­ly. The tales of the wind moved
    them, they shud­dered, and swayed. In vain, they tried to break free.
    But root­ed too strong in their world, they could not break free –
    to run to the sky, and offer it some solace.

    Unbe­com­ing,
    the light­en­ing con­tin­ued it’s tor­ture. The sky was now engulfed in
    waves of unbear­able pains. Encour­aged, light­en­ing stepped up its
    cru­el­ty, roar­ing, and thun­der­ing.  The sky shud­dered, and then, when
    the pains crossed a point, tears escaped it. A
    trick­le gave way to a down­pour, as sky opened up.

    The
    earth, which was the silent spec­ta­tor, now offered her sol­i­dar­i­ty. As she
    imbibed the first teardrops, the wet earth let out a unique scent. Aid­ed
    by the wind, it reached the sky, a token of earth’s com­pas­sion. It was
    as if the earth had put her arm around it. That touch
    was all the sky need­ed; to let go. As it cried its heart out, the
    down­pour last­ed for a while, releas­ing all the pent up agony. Even when
    it final­ly stopped, the essence of their com­mu­nion lin­gered on through
    the scent of the wet earth.

    • Thank you, Sir. Your com­ment was like an egg that hatched itself into yet anoth­er blog post.