BY HIRALAL GODIWALA

Corresponding to the mystic poets of mediaeval Europe, mediaeval India had Mirabai, Kabir, Chaitanya, Tukaram and the other ‘bhakti’ poets. The religious spirit dominated Indian literature for centuries. In Gujarat, Narasinha Mehta (XV century) whose religious hymns have been accorded an all-India recognition during recent years, thanks to the efforts of Gandhiji and his ‘Ashrama-bhajanavali,’ and Bhatt Premanand (XVII century) were among the greatest of the early poets. Going through the poetry of this period, one wonders if there was no one to express the spirit of discontent with the existing religious institutions and to sound that voice of revolt which one hears in England, after the process of disintegration has set in, in the humour and comedy of Chaucer’s ‘Prologue to the Canterbury Tales,’ in the democratic peasant-poetry of Langland, and in the clever modernistic doggerel of Skelton. Some of the poetry of Narasinha Mehta voices the spirit of anti-untouchability. There is effective Swiftean irony in his description of a respectable man’s funeral. (He calls it a marriage-procession). Premanand’s realistic pictures of Narasinha Mehta’s life and of his inevitable clashes with the conventions of a ‘respectable’ world are tinged with satire. But as a sounder of the voice of revolt, Akha stands almost alone–a solitary figure in the Gujarat of XVII century. Known to scholars as the author of a difficult but great philosophic poem the ‘Akhe Gita,’ and to the masses as the writer of some outspoken satire, ‘Akha’s Whiplashes,’ Akha, unlike Mirabai and Narasinha Mehta, was a philosopher rather than a man of religion. His whole life was devoted to the search for that Truth of which the Vedantins speak. Most of his poetry is written in a Vedantic vein.

For most religious institutions and for the priests and ‘sadhus,’ Akha had nothing but contempt. And he voiced his contempt in no equivocal terms:

"I accepted Gokulnath as my ‘guru’ and (realized that) I had yoked an old bull, who’d rob one of one’s wealth but not of one’s cross. What good would that ‘guru’ do?"

That came as a reaction to his attempt to meet the high-priest of the Vaishnavas, one of the richest of the hereditary priest-potentates, at the Mecca of the Vaishnavas. He went to pray, and, thanks to the treatment he received, he came away to scoff. "The priest looked at me, but did not care." He looked out of the window and recognized Akha. But since Akha was no longer the rich goldsmith he was when he had first visited the place, he was turned out of the very place where he had been welcomed before and feasted. Even the watchman at the gate is said to have challenged him: "Akha was a rich ‘sheth’; how could you be the same?"

At most of the places of pilgrimage he visited, including Kashi, in his search for Truth, he found vain, ignorant ‘sadhus’ and sannyasins, ‘greedy for wealth and fond of women.’ Most of those who posed as ‘gurus’ were themselves deeply merged in the mire of ignorance.

"He considers himself a ‘guru’;

But how could one swim with a big stone round one’s neck?"

And how could such a ‘guru’ ever save others!

Rites, sects, religious institutions, he regarded as impediments rather than aids in the search for Truth:

"There was once a fool who bowed to every stone as a god."

"The ears have been deafened, listening to the ‘kathas’; Still there is no sign of Light dawning."

Revolting against authority, he wrote about ‘searching for oneself’ being the only way of finding the Truth:

"Three and fifty winters have passed, putting on the holy mark. The rosary is worn out. The feet are weary of pilgrimages. Still God is not near."

His poetry is a direct expression of his experiences. His very attempt to seek for Truth was a result, we are told, of his bitter experiences in life. A goldsmith by birth and profession, he could not stand the dross and deceit of this world, and renounced all–wealth and profession–at an early age. Already suffering from the shock of the death of his sister, he had sought consolation in the company of ‘sadhus’ and ‘holy’ men, most of whom he had soon found out to be vain, ignorant, lecherous and avaricious. Other experiences had followed. A woman whom he had been regarding as more than a sister had once expressed doubt about his professional honesty. And, it is said, having been falsely accused of mixing alloy with silver in the mint of which he was in charge, he had even suffered imprisonment.

Akha’s satiric poetry, like Langland’s, has the crudeness, sincerity, directness, vigour and simplicity of a man who bases his poetry on his own reactions to life and addresses it directly to the masses. And yet sometimes his expression takes on a Browningesque obscurity–the result, probably, of an attempt to express difficult thought in a language not yet fully developed. But the popularity of his satires (some of his lines are on the lips of every villager) shows the genuine quality of his verse, and lends support to the belief that if a poet goes for inspiration to the people and addresses himself to them, the people are bound to go to him.

BACK