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Kindle Notes & Highlights
After the 1993 riots in Mumbai, she turned to mediaeval saint-poetry, which reflects the inner voice of love for all irrespective of socio-cultural differences. That was when her compositions of Kabir, Meera, Sahajo and Marathi saint-poets like Tukaram, Chokhamela Muktabai, Soyarabai and others appeared on the music scene.
Drawn from across the caste hierarchy, these women saints defied caste. They came together as a family-in-faith, inspired by their belief in a God transcendent yet intimately familiar. Their poetry has enriched the lives of its listeners over the centuries, drawing its imagery from the everyday life of work, hardship and marginalization yet embracing a universe of expansive, emancipated consciousness.
I think the Bhakti poets—from Andal and Namdev to Kabir and Meerabai—would not understand either. They did not work this way. Their songs were invitations to love, to oneness, to liberation, to breaking away from categories like ‘me’ and ‘mine’ and ‘you’ and ‘yours’. They offer advice which is often imperious but it comes out of a sense of urgency. They are saintly in their love of God but they are not particularly kind; in many poems, they heap abuse upon the non-believer. They often sound contemporary and modern but they are of their time and any attempt to make them something else would be
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The collection to which we referred was published originally by the Geeta Press. They have stopped publishing it now. Neela says in her introduction that women are the adi-dalits, the original caste that was broken and oppressed and silenced. Once again this has been proved true.
Moreover in the last fifty years or so, the feminist movement has brought us to the realization that women are the ‘adi-dalits’, the original dalits, those who own no land, wield no power and have no say in the way their worlds are shaped. In Bahinabai’s time, as now, women had to mount a constant fight to secure their rights and to hold them. They had to exercise eternal vigilance. Soyarabai, Nirmala, Janabai, Kanhopatra, Bhaagu, Vatsara, Bahinabai, all lived in circumstances that we would consider difficult, if not downright pitiable. But the Bhakti tradition with its direct approach to God,
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The remarkable thing about the poetry of these women is their faith in life. They are prey to multiple conflicts, their lives are never easy but they do not admit defeat.
the basic message of Bhakti: that you need no intermediary between yourself and God; that anyone, however humble, could attain salvation and freedom from the cycle of birth and death; that you didn’t even need the scriptures or Sanskrit. All you needed was that holy name and the faith to hold on to it and make your way across the raging torrent.
The women-saints Bhaagu and Vatsara have their own special way of addressing Vitthala. To them, Vitthala is a compassionate mother. In ‘Mee re aparaadhi mothi’ (see page 176-77), Bhaagu demands to be fed at Vitthala’s breast. This is another roopa of the Godhead; He can be a mother, accepting, loving, nurturing and flowing with breast milk. He is called Vitthalamauli, Vitthala the mother, again and again. For Vatsara, nothing less than everything is an offering to Vitthala. Nothing therefore is left for the God of Death; it has all been sacrificed to Vitthala.
Bhakti poetry has been written since the 12th century in all the languages of India. The message of love, empathy, peace and transcendence offers an oasis of calm in our competitive, consumerist world. One connects with people. Progress does not necessarily have to be at the cost of humanism.
The poetry becomes part of my understanding of music. Classical khayal music is deeply influenced by the Sufi and Bhakti sects; one discovers these instances as one sings these abhangs. The lines do not remain lines; they open a creative space for expression. Gradually the difference between the male and female saint disappears. Can we use these poems in our lives? This cannot be answered on some universal level. My own answer arises out of my thirst: I want to sing these compositions again and again and each time I return I find new meaning and new resonance.
The Moon by Day The nirguna lies on the bed of the saguna And Vitthala lies on that bed. The tawny Lord rises, manifest in all. Favourites? He can have none. He is united with everyone. How bright He makes the moon by day. Muktai is rich; Narayana is everywhere. Her life is pure; she and He are one.
I sense Him here. My God. From the temple Here. In my home. The roof flies off. I am open to the sky. Until this happens, one is condemned To play out those old roles of the ego; To a heartbeat empty of love; To be blind to the self-evident— for fear of running mad.
Here’s a warning from Him: The formless lurks in the illusion, lives in everything, in everyone. Yes, in you too. Uproot the passive to become passive.
No Passion Left No passion left, when I see You in my mind’s eye. No difference left, I’m pure inside. Your name tears through the nets of birth. Soyara says: The shackles break and fall away.
You Say Some Bodies Are Untouchable You say some bodies are untouchable. Tell me what you say of the soul. You say defilement is born in the body. If menstrual blood makes me impure, Tell me who was not born of that blood. This blood of mine fertilizes the world. Tell me who has not sprung from this source. Soyara says: This impurity is the cornerstone of your world. That’s why I praise only Panduranga, Who lives in every body, pure, impure.
Not One Atom of Happiness Not one atom of happiness in this life sentence. I can’t think. I can’t pray. My mind won’t stop. All day, all day: Tumult. Nirmala says: Chokha, how do you do it? How do you hold on to Him?
For the Love of His Name For the love of His name, I ruined my life. You can do it too. All you need is that name. Just sing His praise. All else will follow. Nirmala says: That’s all it took.
Even if we’re slaves of the strong, Who would ask to be reborn? With Vitthala on my side, I can face down the God of death. Jani says: No sin left no self left.
With Hari for a friend, she has the world. He shields her from the cruel wind. She is never without Him. He is never far away. Janabai’s warning? He possesses you completely.
God-mad You went God-mad and your family drowned. Some son and heir, you proved to be. Look at the scions of those around. Just my luck: I got this booby. Namya, what were you thinking? You’re lost in God and we’re sinking.
Mother Krishna in my innermost core, From Your unseeing eyes, let mercy flow. The world has forced me to be a whore, From Your unseeing eyes, let mercy flow. The scriptures say: You raise up the low, From Your unseeing eyes, let mercy flow.
Bliss knocks urgently at the doors of my senses. As if I were sitting by the pulsing life force. Were I a pot, I’d be submerged Under water and yet unbroken.
In the Sky of My Heart Such happiness then, such happiness. I could have sat there even to the end. I bathed in the Indrayani and joy-soaked I went to the temple. I looked upon Panduranga. I felt his gaze on me. The words began to flow. I bowed to Tukoba and went home. Bahini says: The ocean is within me. In the sky of my heart, God spoke in thunder.
