KOKILAMMA’S WEDDING
(Rendered
from Telugu by G. Dharma Rao)
Sri
Viswanatha Satyanarayana is one of the foremost of modern Telugu writers, noted
for versatility of theme and vigour of style. As a poet he has written much,
and though his output in the field of narrative and drama is not
inconsiderable, his popularity Tests largely on his lyrics, chief of which are Kinnera-Sani
Patalu (Songs of Kinnera) and Kokilamma-Pelli (Kokilamma’s Wedding).
An English rendering of the latter is attempted here.
It
has to be noted that this piece, like all good poetry, loses much in the
process of translation. One melody cannot easily be translated by another. So
are the music and idiom of a language, to speak of the atmosphere.
Kokilamma’s
Wedding owes much of its uniqueness and charm to the
mastery of the inherent wealth of spoken Telugu idiom and the lilt and cadence
of its stanzas. It is a treat to hear the poet sing his own poem.
The
story is like any fairy-tale, though the last stanza connecting Chilaka-thalli
with Sanskrit and Kokilamma with Telugu is suggestive.
Callow youth may scoff:
To them I pay no heed:
Old,
old tales I’ll dig
Out of the dusty past.
Like a brood of cobras young, the sinuous sea-waves
Do creep and creep shoreward,
And break and glide way.
A wood abuts the shore, and in the wood
Are giant trees. The wind that stirs
The waves doth move those giant trees.
At dead of night the pink-eyed virgin-stars above,
Into the wood and into the sea
Do peep and smile.
At sundown along the marge,
The winsome wind urchins do saunter
In lovely gait.
In the whirling mid-sea
The serpent-maidens do float and swim
Out of mortal sight.
Fields of gold, and fields of flowers,
Fringe the shore. Just touch the flowers,
And the milky sap doth ooze.
My tales relate to long-forgotten times.
The Telugu land was naught then
But hills and woody dales,
Along the shore a hamlet stood, and a King ruled it.
The Telugu folk even in those far-off times
Were men of power and fame.
In the bamboos, strings of pearls,
And out of the spindle, plenty of cloth.
And so, like the sudden up-rise of the moon,
The King’s fame shone.
A great lord he was: in his land
Was nothing improper done: nor did
Sham civilisation sap the land.
Men tilled at need’s dictate. None
E’en touched a plot beyond his need.
The rest of the realm was wood-land
That clomb the hills and kissed the maiden clouds;
And timely rains did fall.
Each had what he wanted: And
’tween man and man was ne’er a brawl
Heard or known.
The King had daughters twain:
The Moduga 1 bloomed in their lips,
The elder was Chilaka-thalli 2 named,
And the younger Kokil-amma. 3
Kokilamma was dark,
But ‘parrot-mother’ of brighter hue:
And never was love lost between the two!
When Chilaka-thalli began to lisp
While yet so young, her father’s heart
Was thrilled to joy.
Years passed and Kokilamma
Was old enough to speak. But alas!
Not a word could she utter!
Saris of diverse colours and tints,
To ‘mother-parrot’ her father would fetch,
But he was worth with ‘Kokil-mother’ for nothing!
At this Chilaka-thalli would laugh
While the father winked:
Poor Kokil looked at her mother
And turned quite pale!
When ‘parrot-mother’ jeered her,
And her father scolded her,
Hapless Kokil hid behind her mother
With a trembling heart.
Helpless was the mother, and even vexed:
Finding no solace, poor Kokilamma
Pined and pined within.
Every day she would mingle her sobs
With the waves’ hum: with vacant stare watch the foam,
And turn away.
Or she would sit in the forest under a tree
Revolving her woes,
And sitting, sink on the forest floor.
She longed to tell her plight to tree or bush:
But cruel God,
To her the gift of speech denied.
So the livelong day she roamed along the brooks,
And in the sand built nests
For sparrows without nests.
Pacing down the hill-side rills,
Feasting her eyes on the hill-side flowers,
She kept away from home, even unto the darkling dusk.
Oft-times, she made the wood her home all night.
All night her mother would sigh at home
In anxious expectancy.
The seasons came and went:
Rains, and then the chilly days, and autumn:
Then Spring smiled and buds blazed into beauty.
Flowerets at branches’ end,
Clusters and clusters on end:
Flowers this side, flowers that side,
And fragrance everywhere!
Then, like the vein in a tender shoot,
Like honey in a butter-cup,
Came youth to the sisters two.
Wonder-struck by Chilaka-thalli’s lore,
And charmed by her beauty,
E’en the wind-lads were smitten with longing.
Her beauty spilled and overflowed
Over the land. Even those
Who never saw her, were loud in their praise.
The Queen of trees waved aloft her head
And sang songs of Chilaka-thalli
Somewhere afar in the heavens,
Out of an overflowing heart.
The winsome wind-children wandering at sunset,
Poured out Chilaka-thalli’s beauty
In breath eloquent.
Countless were the men who proposed
For a bride so rare:
That was why her parents guarded her with utmost care.
And lest the lords of sea and wood
Should snatch the maid and possess her,
They would not let her cross the threshold.
Like the eyelid the eye, they guard her,
She was not to step beyond the courtyard,
No, not even to do the duties of home.
Her beauty’s rivulets
Do branch and shape into wondrous forms,
Raining honey-drops
In sprays of rarest grace.
Doting on the beauty of ‘Parrot-mother’
Lost in thoughts of the wedding of ‘Parrot-mother’,
Her parents never lent a thought to ‘Mother-kokil’.
Then came one afternoon a Brahmana,
His golden ear-pendents shining on his cheeks,
To the royal palace.
The
parents of Chilaka-thalli made him welcome,
And
offered presents to his heart’s content.
Chanting
the Vedic hymns
And
itching, for a debate,
He
stayed as a guest with the Telugu King.
Listening
to his musical recitals,
Admiring
his glowing form,
Chilaka-thalli
bound him to her heart.
Aware
of all that passed, the King perchance was full of joy:
But
the mother was not too pleased with Chilaka-thalli’s ways.
For
Kokilamma hath taken to the hills and dales,
And
doth not return home.
How
heart-heavy is her mother for her!
An
unknown alien stepped into the house,
And
the ‘Parrot-mother’ all of a sudden
Fell
in love with him!
While
Kokilamma wandered the forests wild,
A
forlorn wastrel, lost to her mother.
Along
wood’s and dales, and gurgling brooks,
With
faltering steps the mother walked,
In
anxious search.
In
the dark shades where roaming tigers rest
At
midday bright, she searched,
Her
heart throbbing with terror.
She
looked for her in secret walks and well-heads
Where
tiger and lynx slake their thirst and lie in wait.
Along
forest-depths she groped, by human feet untrod,
But
strewn with footprints of beasts of prey.
She
paced along tracks where blood-hounds prowl,
That
can kill even tigers and suck them into a pulp.
Sighing
deep, she probed into the dense wood
Where
pythons sleep after feasting on fowl.
She
searched here, she searched there,
But
Kokilamma was nowhere to be seen:
And
the mother’s heart was rent in twain.
At
last, beside a mushini 4 tree
Whose
roots went deep into a brook,
She
sank listless.
The
while, the daughter followed in silent steps.
And
touched to the quick by her mother’s distress,
Burst
into a sudden cry.
She
rumbled like thunder,
And
flashed like lightning,
And
in a bound fell in her mother’s lap.
They
hugged each other, mother and child,
They
hugged with eyes all closed:
Senseless
they both cowered at the foot of the tree.
There
they lay in tight embrace
And
in utter forgetfulness:
Neither
of them woke up, nor opened her eyes.
“Surely
this is the love of mother and Child!”
Sang
the brooklet in the wood.
“Surely
this is the love of mother and child!”
Sang
the quivering creepers in the wood.
“Surely
this is the love of mother and child!”
Piped
the wind-lads through bamboo flutes.
“Surely
this is the love of mother and child!”
Sang
Mother Nature in ecstasy lost.
‘Without
the wee ubiquitous Kokil
Ever
on the move, like the pulley over a well,
The
forest looked bare and forlorn.
The
forest spring stood widowed of her beauty,
As
no more did Kokilamma bathe in its waters
Nor
taste of them.
When
Kokilamma no longer picks their shoots,
Nor
wears their flowers,
How
can beauty deck the saplings wild?
The
forest glades where once roamed Kokilamma,
The
forest, bereft of Kokilamma,
How
can they retain their spring-time charm?
“Immortal
is Kokilamma that loved her mother so,”
Sang
the swinging mango blossom in the wood.
“Kokilamma
that loved her mother so, shall ne’er be drowned,”
Murmured
the fountain in the wood.
“Kokilamma
that loved her mother so, shall come back to life,”
Sang
the wood herself.
Shedding
her tender light the moon declared,
‘Love
never, never, dies.”
Rains
ceased: the dales were full of water:
Autumn
ran its course.
Like
a little maiden with vermilion on her slender brow,
And
decked for a festival,
The
entire wood burgeoned into flower and leaf.
Like
a wheat-brown cobra, like a stream of cocoanut milk,
The
little spring meandered
In
coy gracefulness.
Then,
somewhere, from a far end of the wood, floated a song,
Full
faint, and soft, and sweet.
And
hearing the song, the whole wood
Stood
in mute surprise,
Like
one who sees a lost kinsman come back.
At
first a slender current,
The
spring widened as it flowed:
Till,
unable to hold itself,
It
raced along the woods.
“Lo!
the Kokil has come back!
Hearken!
the Kokil sings again!
She
is alive, she is alive!”
So
crying, the wood-fount rolled in joy.
The
lovely young mango bloomed again.
Meanwhile
the wood looked glorious with heightened beauty.
Then
came the King of flowers, Prince Charming;
His
face wreathed in smiles, to woo her there.
He
comes but once a year,
And
when he comes, he brings
Flowers
innumerable.
His
are the charms and graces.
“Welcome
to thee, King of flowers,
Thou
hast brought many a flower;
Those
very flowers shall be her dower.
“Kokilamma
we’ll deck as a bride,
And
thee as a bride-groom,
And
yoke you both in Hymen’ s bonds.
“Thou
by thy beauty,
And
she by her melody,
Do
make a perfect pair.
“Come,
O King of flowers,
Come,
O handsome youth,
To
Kokilamma a husband fit,
And
to thee a fit bride she.”
For
the bridal, over the entire wood
The
buds they turned festal wreaths,
And
in the rocky caves the tigers wild stood guard.
The
thin white springlet played the hymeneal pipe,
And
when Mother Nature opened her eyes,
There
was a burst of flowers like moonlight.
Flowers
rained in showers,
Honey-sweet
songs filled the air,
Paths
of beauty swam into the view,
And
golden harvests reaped.
Chilaka-thalli’s
noble lies
Hath
preserved for us Samskritic lore:
While
Kokilamma’s treasure is the sweet Telugu tongue.
1
a red forest flower.
2 &
3 ‘thalli’ and ‘amma’ are Telugu words meaning ‘mother’–the usual
feminine suffixes in Telugu. ‘Chilaka’ and ‘Kokil’ are ‘parrot’ and ‘cuckoo’.
4 Mushini
is a tree with bitter leaves and berries.