Rain ( Translated into French )

Dear friends

This is the twelfth poem of mine  which has been translated into French by none other than Honourable Athanase Vantchev de Thracy, World President of Poetas del Mundo , undoubtedly one of the greatest poets of contemporary French.

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RAIN

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Rain when it comes, it only rains

scorching heat, biting dust

parched earth sniffing life

birds chirping as they must

peeled brooks smile again

rain when it comes, it only rains.

Dying flowers breathe and blush

shying lotus blossom in slush

peacocks dance, frogs croak

dried forest getting soaked

faded leaves, unfold again

rain when it comes, it only rains.

Buds blossom into flowers

newly weds dying for showers

cupid strikes and presence is felt

hearts of human and animals getting melt

oblivious of surrounding only two remain

rain when it comes, it only rains.

Farmers laugh running to fields

praying God for bumper yield

dusty winds dare not blow

venturing children paying no heed

mercury mulls not rising again

rain when it comes, it only rains.

Rivers sing a merry song

springs wish to go along

streams dance to nature’s tune

rising lakes see nothing wrong

brownish land looks green again

rain when it comes, it only rains.

Overcast sky sieving light

far  in the west rainbow bright

puddles of pool in the street

roof top cries, oh kite, oh kite

water authorities needn’t rake the brains

rain when comes, it only rains.

Elixir for life, rain must go away

but must come in time, we always pray

without rains none will be sane

life in planet will not remain

rain when it comes, it only rains.

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All rights reserved/Tribhawan Kaul

LA PLUIE

Quand la pluie tombe,

Ô merveille de la pluie !

Elle griffe la chaleur torride et mord la poussière,

La terre desséchée aspire à la vie,

On entend, comme il se doit, les gazouillis des oiseaux,

Les ruisseaux pelés sourient à nouveau,

Quand la pluie tombe,

Ô merveille de la pluie !

Les fleurs mourantes reprennent souffle et se colorent,

Le timide lotus s’épanouit dans la vase,

Les paons se mettent à danser, les grenouilles coassent,

La forêt sèche devient toute trempée,

Les feuilles fanées se redressent à nouveau,

Quand la pluie tombe,

Ô merveille de la pluie !

Les bourgeons deviennent des fleurs

Les jeunes mariés rêvent à des averses,

Cupidon frappe et sa présence se fait sentir

Les cœurs des hommes et des bêtes fusionnent

Oubliant tout ce qui les entoure,

Les amoureux se croient seuls au monde,

Quand la pluie tombe,

Ô merveille de la pluie !

Les agriculteurs rient et courent aux champs

Priant Dieu pour des récoltes abondantes,

Les vents poussiéreux n’osent pas souffler

Les enfants audacieux ne font attention à rien,

Le mercure réfléchit avant de remonter

Quand la pluie tombe,

Ô merveille de la pluie !

Les rivières chantent de joyeuses chansons,

Les sources rêvent à de longs voyages,

Les ruisseaux dansent au rythme de la nature,

Les lacs ne voient rien de mal à gonfler,

La terre brunâtre devient de nouveau verte

Quand la pluie tombe,

Ô merveille de la pluie !

Le ciel couvert tamise la lumière,

Loin à l’ouest brille un arc-en-ciel,

Des flaques profondes envahissent les rues, 

Les toits pleurent, oh mon Dieu, ô mon Dieu,

Les responsables des eaux

Ne doivent pas se faire de soucis,

Quand la pluie tombe,

Ô merveille de la pluie !

Élixir de vie, la pluie doit s’en aller,

Mais elle doit revenir en temps opportun,

Nous prions toujours pour qu’elle revienne,

Sans la pluie personne ne survivra,

La vie s’éteindra sur cette planète,

Quand la pluie tombe,

Ô merveille de la pluie !

Tribhawan Kaul

Traduit en français par Athanase Vantchev de Thracy

Translated into French by Athanase Vantchev de Thracy

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Born on January 3, 1940, in Haskovo, Bulgaria, the extraordinary polyglot culture studied for seventeen years in some of the most popular universities in Europe, where he gained deep knowledge of world literature and poetry.

Athanase Vantchev de Thracy is the author of 32 collections of poetry (written in classic range and free), where he uses the whole spectrum of prosody: epic, chamber, sonnet, bukoliket, idyll, pastoral, ballads, elegies, rondon, satire, agement, epigramin, etc. epitaph. He has also published a number of monographs and doctoral thesis, The symbolism of light in the poetry of Paul Verlaine's. In Bulgarian, he wrote a study of epicurean Petroni writer, surnamed elegantiaru Petronius Arbiter, the favorite of Emperor Nero, author of the classic novel Satirikoni, and a study in Russian titled Poetics and metaphysics in the work of Dostoyevsky.

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image curtsy Google.com

दुपदी (Couplet-19)

कुर्सी छोड़ते ही याद आ गयी, बातें पिछली सारी

काश !कि उठाते वह मसले, कुर्सी के रहते रहते।।

kursi chodte hee yaadd aa gayi baate pichli saari

kaash! ki uthatte vh masle kursi ke rahte rahte.

त्रिभवन कौल

posted first on FB on 10/08-2017 
# Hamid Ansari 

वर्ण पिरामिड (55-56)

वर्ण पिरामिड:-भारत &पर्यावरण
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है
शब्द
भारत
पूजनीय
सार्थक अर्थ
सहनशीलता
ज़रूरी आक्रम्यता
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लो 
रोको 
विषाक्त 
जल-वायु 
पर्यावरण 
धरा संक्रमण 
कुसूत संसाधन 
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सर्वाधिकार सुरक्षित /त्रिभवन कौल

बाल सुलभ

बाल सुलभ
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रक्षा अपने 6 साल की बेटी रिया को उसके शतरंज क्लास से  वापस ला रही थी। चूंकि रक्षा के  पति कार लेकर सर्विस स्टेशन चले गए थे , इसलिए उसने एक  ऑटो को रुकवाया और बेटी को लेकर बैठ गयी।   घर पहुंचते ही रक्षा ने ऑटो किराए का भुगतान किया और लिफ्ट लेने के लिए बेटी से संग  लॉबी में आ गयी।  लिफ्ट में उसे  एहसास हुआ कि  शतरंज बोर्ड ऑटो में ही छूट गया था। उसने  लिफ्ट को बीच में ही रोक कर लिफ्ट के द्वारा नीचे आ गयी। ऑटो जा चूका था।

शाम को चाय पर सभी परिवार के सदस्य एक ही कमरे में बैठे थे।  रिया सब  को शतरंज  बोर्ड के गुम  होने की सूचना को देने में पहल करने में  उत्सुक थी। उसने खोए शतरंज बोर्ड के बारे में बताने की शुरुआत की ही थी कि उसकी मां ने ज़ाहिर  तौर पर नाराज़ होकर पूछा, "तो,रिया सब को बताओं कि तुमने आज क्या गलती की” । रिया यद्दीपि थोड़ा सहम सी गयी पर पूरी कहानी सुनाने के  लालच ने उसका डर दूर कर दिया और उसने शतरंज बोर्ड के ऑटो में रह जाने की घटना खूब हंस कर दोहराई।  सारे सदस्य उसकी मासूमीयत भरी कहानी को सुन कर हंस रहे थे जब रक्षा ने रिया को कहा।

 " अच्छा बताओं इस घटना से तुमने क्या सीखा। तुमको क्या नैतिक सीख मिली। "

सबों ने सोचा रिया खेद व्यक्त करेगी और आगे से सजग रहने को कहेगी कि हमें ऑटो से बाहर निकलने से पहले अपने सामान को लेने में कभी नहीं भूलना चाहिए। रिया कुछ देर चुप रही और फिर चहक कर बोली ," हमें यह शिक्षा मिलती है कि हमें हमेशा अपनी कार से ही यात्रा करनी चाहिए ताकि कोई सामान छूट नहीं जाए ।" रिया की इस बाल सुलभ
विवेचना से सभी हंस कर लोट पोट हो गए। ////////////////////////////////

लेखक की टिप्पिणी :- कभी कभी बाल सुलभ बोल हमें चेतावनी का आभास दिलाना चाहते हैं जिसको हम यूँही बच्चों की  हाज़िरजवाबी मान कर अपनी प्रसन्नता  व्यक्त तो करते हैं पर बच्चों की जीवन के प्रति जो मान्यता /धारणा बनती हैं उसको नज़र अंदाज़ कर देते हैं। गरीब और आर्थिक रूप से असंम्पन परिवारों के बच्चे  हर परिस्थिति का सामना कर  पलते बढ़ते हैं,  जबकि अमीरों के,  नए नए अमीर बने परिवारों के बच्चे अपने सुविधा क्षेत्रों (Comfirt zone)/ आरामदायक माहौल  से बाहर यदि आ जाएँ तो उनको एक बेचैनी  सी महसूस होने लगती है। माता पिता का तब यह कर्तव्य बन जाता है कि वह अपने बच्चों को हर परिस्थिति में रहना और उससे जूझना सिखाए ताकि आगे चल कर वह एक बेहतरीन नागरिक और संतान का फ़र्ज़ निभा सकें ।  
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सर्वाधिकार सुरक्षित /त्रिभवन कौल 

Kashmiriat is dead ! Long live Kashmiriat.

Kashmiriat is dead ! Long live Kashmiriat.

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Sound of gun fire was less fearful than the silence. Their eyes were blood shot. Tears had simply dried. They simply waited for the inevitable to happen. A baby was cozying in the lap of her young mother oblivious of her fate and totally immune to happenings outside.  A young boy was just looking towards his mother like a bird in the nest waiting for its turn to be fed.  A girl, in her teens, was tightly holding her mother’s hand with perplexed expressions as if she was  expecting the worst. Each person in the attic was eying each other waiting for the cue not knowing what to do next.  The escape, from the onslaught of rouges who were identifying every house of Pandit family in the locality for the militant elements and torching their houses,  could have been short lived but for the presence of mind of Gul Nisaar who had brought them to his house and had hidden them in the attic. Smoke was bellowing out not far from their hide out. They heard the steps approaching them. Arzan Nath’s intuitions  became skeptical. Watching his distraught daughter-in-law with the baby on her shoulders  and the girl trembling, he hugged them tightly trying to insulate them from fear as he had no other option. What if ? He did not want to even imagine as the nightmarish experience of the previous night was enough to rattle his confidence. His son was shot dead yesterday as he had been sympathizing with moderate element of the society and speaking against terrorism which was seeking to establish its foothold in the village. Arzan Nath held himself together with sheer will power and did not allow the breakdown to overpower his senses.

There was constant knocking and then he heard familiar voice of Gul Nisaar.

“Arzan Nathaaaa. Open . Quick. We have to move.”  He saw the fear on Gul Nisaar’s face underlining the urgency. Gul brought them down to the backyard ally where a jeep was waiting for them. Rahmaan, Gul’s son was at the driver’s seat. He gestured them to move in quickly. Without hesitation, Arzan Nath ushered everyone into the vehicle. Water welled out of Gul’s eyes as he saw the jeep getting enveloped into darkness. South side of the locality was still burning and so was his heart.

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Rahmaan drove the jeep through service lanes avoiding main roads. At every bend, he stopped his vehicle and made sure that the lane was clear. Gun shots shattered the peace intermittently giving creeps to Arzan Nath and his remaining family. After half an hour of absorbing violent jerks they reached main crossing where they found an army truck. Rahmaan stopped near the truck. Truck had already few pundits who seemed to be shocked beyond their imagination. Army Captain enquired routinely from Arzan Nath and asked them to sit in the truck. Fear gave way to some alleviation that could also have been short-lived. Patting Rahmaan, Captain ordered the truck to move. Rahmaan returned now taking the main road. Three days later Arzan Nath with his daughter-in-law and grand children found themselves in the refugee camp in Jammu. Conspirators had struck the first blow to kashmiriat ?

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Similarities and differences  though  always define the relationships between two individuals, two families, two communities, two states, two countries  yet a strong bond of friendship always conquers  the complexities of situations. To Arzan Nath and Gul Nisaar Kashmir had always been an awakening  to nature’s beauty in all its pristine appearance in all seasons. For them simple name ‘Kashmir’ galvanized both to be patriotic towards their land of birth. Kashmir,  where tourists thronging house boats at Jheele Dal , at Chaar-chinaar, Nishant-Shalimar, Ganpatyaar, Hazratbal, Kheer-bhawani ,the golf gounds of Gulmarg, Sonamarg among pine, fruit laden trees, saffron fields ,snow laden mountain peaks, valleys and a spirit of once pervading peace among the innocent populace , seemed a never ending dream . Gul Nissar and his family was not a neighbourer to  Arzan Nath’s , they were a family within the family as described by the tenets of humanity. They were hopeful that their land, torn asunder by the ravages of time and politics, embroiled in ethnic, political disputes will one day wake up to its reality and their pain and longing of separation will cease to exist.

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Camp life soon took its toll. Arzan Nath’s daughter-in-law and the baby could not adjust with the camp life and vagaries of weather. They both succumbed to the alien conditions. Arzan Nath somehow survived to look after his grand daughter and opened a tea stall selling tea at the highway. Time flew like an eagle’s flight. Tea stall owner shifted to one room flat built for all the refuges by the Govt.

Time, if cruel, is kind too. It always tests the limitations of humans but does reward those who pass the test. Refugees were going through those testing times. Slowly but steadily their fighting spirit came to fore which started eliminating their docility, timidity, fearfulness from their traits. They started calling themselves displaced Kashmiri refugees within India i.e. Bharat i.e Hindustan.  They took up jobs which they would have never thought of venturing into, had they been in Kashmir.  Arzan Nath’s entrepreneurial acumen took everyone by surprise and he soon opened a small restaurant near the highway bus stand.

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Arzan Nath was overseeing the arrangements of the restaurant when he saw a familiar face alighting from the bus. He could not believe his eyes. He ran shouting ‘Gula, Gula.’  Gul Nisaar saw him too and ran towards him with open arms. Both held each other tightly. On lookers were first amused to see both in tight embrace and then starting clapping. Eyes were moist. Gul Nisaar could utter only his name repeating, “Arzannatha, Arzannatha” Gul Nisaar had alighted alone from the bus with no belongings. This surprised Arzan Nath. He asked him about Rahmaan and his family. Something snapped inside Gul Nisaar and there was no dam to stop the flow of tears. Pulling himself together, Gul Nisaar informed him that soon after they left Kashmir, his son Rahmaan was tortured and killed for helping Arzan Nath and his family escape. His grand-daughters were forcibly married to militants which made others in his village to tow the line dictated by the militants. Once all ‘Battas’(Hindus/Pundits) were driven out, moderate muslims with moderate and  nationalistic thinking were targeted by both the separatists and the militants. They started facing the wrath of hardliners and militants. The narration shocked  Arzan Nath.  He could not digest that the people of same faith and community could kill one another just to terrorise others shutting them up from raising their voices. Every religion in the world is liberal yet some fanatics and fundamentalists make it look like fundamentalistic.

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With the help of Arzan Nath,  Gul Nisaar established his own small business. Some of the distant relatives of Gul Nisaar, who were also driven out of the valley for showing their solidarity with their pundit brethren and for their  moderate and nationalistic views, also joined soon. The true character of kashmiriat could be found within these refugees, displaced and driven out  from their own land and within their own country. What a paradoxical situation! People like Arzan Nath and Gul Nisaar were determined to bring back the same sense of security, same sense of brotherhood and same sense of solidarity no matter whether they were in Kashmir or outside Kashmir as ethos of Kashmir and kashmiriat  had found echoes everywhere in the world since centuries.  Future was not to be held to ransom by some belligerent elements.

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All rights reserved/Tribhawan Kaul

Images curtsy Google.com/Internet

This short-story was first published in :

 http://differenttruths.com/literature/fiction/is-kashmiriat-is-dead-long-live-kashmiriat/

on 26th July 2017.

हाइकु रचनाएँ :- 1

हाइकु रचनाएँ। 
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आतंकी साया 
दो कबूतर साथ 
अमरनाथ
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दोहन वृत्ति 
भूकंप बाढ़ वृष्टि 
नग्न धरती
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फाल्गुन पक्ष 
ताज़े खिलते फूल 
चित्रक दक्ष
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हरित रास 
पुष्पों का मधुमास 
नव सृजन
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सूर्य उदय 
तटबंध किनारे 
साधक सारे
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सर्वाधिकार सुरक्षित /त्रिभवन कौल

About Tribhawan Kaul :-Part -1 (By Abdul Wahab)

Tribahwan Kaul

Wahab Abdul(12/7/2012 7:12:00 AM)

Its my sheer pleasure to write on a man who is a giant dramatist a poet par excellence and gentle like elephant, a friend like shadow, his mind is as high and wide as the vast sky, he is deep in his thinking like the pacific ocean, he never swayed way with the biased and negative notions of life, humanity in diversity is his philosophy of life drives his activities, he has an accuracy to say on everything, on every topic as he has seen in his long life the flood and drought, storms, high and low tides. his experience glitters on the rims of his writings, a fountain of joy, on which we can quench our thirst for the days to come, a river always flows with warm and affectionate water for ever.

He was born in a Kashmiri Pandit/hindu family in Srinagar, capital of Jammu & Kashmir in India on 1stJanuary,1946. The word ‘Pandit’ denotes a man/woman of great wisdom and knowledge. A very learned person. It is derived from the Sanskrit word ‘Pandita’ meaning scholar/an intellectual. The title ‘Pandit’ stuck with kashmiri hindus during the Mughal King Akbar’s(1552-1605) rule for their mastery in every field of governance, literature and religious philosophies. He spent the early phase of his childhood in Srinagar till the age of seven and then visiting his native place often to sustain his love towards his birthplace. He befriended Jhelum, the river, for learning to flow constantly without stagnating, He prayed in the lap of temples and visited mosques believing in two different faiths enriching brotherhood, peace and love. He remained in the company of flora and fauna which always surprised him witnessing the wonderful creation of that one entity, whom we call Ishwar, Allaha, or the God.

Since the concept of pre-schooling was not there in Kashmir and children were put in school only after turning six, the beautiful surroundings, the festivities, blending of two different cultures of hindus and muslims became natural teachers to his upbringing during his impressionable years.

His father Sh. B.N.Kaul was a teacher in National High School but soon migrated to New Delhi(Capital of India) for better prospects. During his formative years in Delhi, He was exposed to kavi sammelans/ mushairas(both poetic meets) held at various places and sufi singing by Qawwaals at Darghah Nizammudin Aullia. This exposure to varied thoughts of different personalities and cultural ethos remained ingrained in his conscience. He started writing few poetic verses and then mixing them with simple one-act plays, also written by himself, on which he used to mono-act at various forums in front of august gathering that included Late Aruna Asaf Ali, the then Mayor of Delhi, Kavi Harivansh Rai Bachchan and Ellsworth F Bunker, the then Ambassador of America in India (1956-57) .

Later in 1959 at the insistence of a publisher and with the able guidance of his father he compiled all his one-act plays into a manuscript form, which were published in a book titled ‘ Nanhe Muno Ke Rupak’. He was thirteen years old that time. He recollect distinctly that he was made editor of the school magazine after his book was published.

College life was for exploring new frontiers, to enjoy new found freedom, indulging in youthful dreams and fulfilling them as far as practicable. His creative acumen gave him a chance to become member of dramatic club and he won several prizes including a silver medal in acting at University Level. Attending various kavi sammelens and listening to poets of great repute like Bal Kavi Vairagi, Gopal Dass Niraj, Kaka Haathrasi, Harivansh Rai Bachchan, Gopal Dass Vyas etc. nurtured his ambition to express his feelings in verses culminating in hindi compositions in diaries.

This was the time when he also learnt about literary art of Shakespeare, Wordsworth, Keats, S T Coleridge and their poetry, and he started writing poems in English too but was always shy of showing them to others.

Once the college was over and a degree earned, the onus fell on him to search for a job to financially support his family as this was the natural way of survival in every lower middle class Indian family. More so as he was the eldest of the siblings in the family.

He joined the Indian Air Force in the logistic cadre(1967-2005) , and the entire period of service till retirement was a sort of hibernation of his talent barring few occasions every year when he could showcase his talent and win accolades and prizes. Occasionally his poems got published in magazines/ in house journals too. He also came to terms with selection and rejection as he understood that these two words were part and parcel of a writer’s/poet’s life.

He has always maintained that writing makes one a complete human being, as it brings out the true person behind the physical facade, besides having a calming effect on the writer.

Writing poems and expressing his feelings in verses had always been his hobby, but became his passion after retirement from the post of CGO(EQ) /Assistant Director in December2005. Two anthologies of his hindi poems titled as ‘Sab Rang’ and ‘Mann Ki Tarang’ were published in the years 2010 and 2012 respectively. He also started writing English poetry. The real impetus to write in English language came in the year 2009 when one of his poems ‘Trauma’ was published in Dr. Aroona Reejsinghani’s book- ‘How to prevent rape & molestation.’ His English poems were highlighted under the column ‘Poems to Ponder’ on www.verdurez.com (a social networking site for the elderly and the young at heart) , and were also posted on few other poetic websites like www.poemhunter.com and www.poetfreak.com.

Though his forte is writing poems in free verses both in Hindi and English, he always strives to excel in other forms of poetry as well.

Although his association with ‘The Heart of Global Poets- a Workshop & the Publishing Platform’ a facebook group is recent, it allows him to grasp the finer points of poetic excellence and expression on various subjects. This group has given him the confidence to stand with much more accomplished Indian and international poets.

In short his journey to the kingdom of poetry is through the feelings absorbed and observed by the happenings within him, around him and in the world. As much as possible he tries to portray facts as Plato, the Greek philosopher who said, “poetry comes nearer to vital truth than history.”

His spouse Lalita, an elegant lady, and the love of his life, has always been supportive of all his poetic endeavours. He is able to follow his passion vigorously because of her unconditional love and support though the years.

As written by Abdul Wahab,

MD  ‘The Heart of Global Poets- a Workshop & the Publishing Platform’

Via  www.poemhunter.com

Abdul Wahab

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