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Gurus Tagore and the Sikhs

Discussion in 'History of Sikhism' started by taranbir, Dec 1, 2006.

  1. taranbir

    taranbir
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    Bandadir

    by Rabindranath Tagore


    An English translation of Bandadir written by Rabindranath Tagore. This poem was originally written in Bengali.
    In the prominent royal Mogul court of Delhi
    King's sleep will break-up hundred times daily
    There was such a dreadful fright in his heart
    In his consciousness painful sighs were brought


    What fire scorched his heart no one knows
    All of a sudden he was jumping in fiery blows
    It appeared like red hot sky from the Delhi court
    King's heart shaking, seeking Godly support


    Rivers of blood were flowing on the five rivers' land
    Sikhs were facing persecutions for some ideal ground
    Smeared in blood, they were saying thanks in gratitude
    Patiently, regardless of comforts, they were in solitude


    They crossed their way with the Moguls might
    With faithful heart they remembered God in sight
    Maiden decorated with mark of blood, their foreheads
    What sort of people are Sikhs, with such eagerness


    They move like moth, looking at burning all around
    Without delay they line up ready to fight duty bound
    They play jokes with death, and like lions they roar
    Wherever they stare and rebuke, enemy is no more


    Brave warriors jumped in fray with hand to hand attack
    They quickly hawk assaulting caught the deadly foe
    Like flying hawk assaulting a deadly poisonous snake
    Squeezing them in his claws from tip to toe


    Innumerable was the enemy army, Sikhs were very few
    They were surrounded in chains and were put in queue
    Clothes soaked in blood, bodies full of wounds and bruises
    Intestines fall in tummy but they had faith and confidence


    The enemy was battered by the dashing Banda Singh sage
    Moguls fought back and tied him like brave lion in cage
    Surrounded him from all the sides and imprisoned the hero chum
    Then they moved towards Delhi, on the beat of kettle-drum


    The Mogul army departed towards the Capital of Delhi city
    They moved like hurricane, without stopping or any pity
    Seven hundred Sikhs were imprisoned and curled-up in chains
    It was a disgusting sight, an extraordinary incident, full of pains


    On every pointed spear, the head of Sikh was hanging
    Streams of blood dripping, the sight will give a panging
    Sikh prisoners shackled in chains, shouted this voice of cry
    O! our true saviour preserve thy honour, don't let panth shy


    Spectators gathered in the heart of Delhi's Chandni Chowk
    This caravan of Sikhs was quite out of strength and in shock
    Outside they were dull and defeated, inside enjoying thrill
    Greeting loudly the victory of Guru and obedient to His will


    The onlookers revealed an extraordinary and peculiar tale
    The prisoners started argument as no body wanted to fail
    Everybody wanted to be first in their turn to meet the fate
    All wanted to meet the Beloved, Gobind through life's gate


    The wheel of death started, the murderers were on assault
    An applause was echoed, whenever the sword was at fault
    The Sikhs were being butchered, going forward for sacrifice
    It was game of seven days for seven hundred heroes nice


    Chief Banda Singh was in the clutches of destiny or fate
    Next they brought forward to kill his little son ever so great
    The Kazi passed on to banda Singh the killer sword grand
    He ordered to cut his son's head as it was royal command


    Sons are symbols of worldliness for formality in social affairs
    If someone rebukes them one feels like to pull his hairs
    What sort of test in life, to kill one's own son, was shaping
    The thing one can't even imagine, the same was happening


    Banda first picked his son and loved and caressed him
    Then he tried to explain the role and character of Sikhism
    Prince Fateh and Jujhar Singh were also children like you
    Now in the test time and what they achieved you can also do


    Greeting the victory loudly, the little son was revitalized
    If life goes, the custom of Sikhism is, let it be sacrificed
    For holder of righteousness definite victory will be at last
    His love won't be wasted, he meets the Beleoved very fast


    The Kazi became angry as he could not bear the splendour
    The executioner attacked the child and he started to flutter
    Even then this strange trick of destiny could not succeed
    Plump intestines jumping softly, the earth was red indeed


    It is written in the history that Banda remaned unmoved
    In his mouth soft plump heart of slayed child was forced
    In this hard probation Banda remained unshaken, steady
    The history will cry when going through its own study


    It was such a dreadful scene that onlookers could not spy
    Snatching with pincers first they took out his both eyes
    Iron bars were made red hot to burn his body limbs ready
    The Sikh greeted the victory loudly and soul left the body

    The Sky echoed with kettle-drum beat, banner flying like kite
    Once a hero takes a battlefield, he is eager to show his might
    A true warrior is one, who fights for sake of humble and meek
    He might cut into the pieces, but to leave battlefield will never
    seek .
     
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