THE THUMP-LOSER RESPONDS...

The deer-folk dashes and rabbits frolic

And frightened birds flutter away;

Rows of giant trees tumble uproot

Crashing the under growth foliage down.

Dust- screens cloud the skies,

And the mid-day sun gets dim,

Rolling of chariot wheels heard,

And a murmur emanates from

the rocking wood...

Listened I keen with  surveillant eyes.

I saw the Master of Hasthinapura

The Lord of my mind

with disciples and retinue behind;

Like the Lord of Destruction,

He stands before me.

Drona rushes up like a storm

with a thirst bound to gulp the cosmos

in his flashing eyes like spheres.

"Who is your master?

Who taught you to dart

arrows to the sound-target

without flaw?....

The art of dart, if got in

undeserved hands, is Fire,

Ending the world..

Eh, nomad boy,

How did you attain

the art of dart that was

Tabooed to you by the 'Sruthis'?

And who your master is..."

The fire of query bent in

Hatred and wrath

flared in the master's tongue.

"Let me be blessed...

I too am your pupil...

Bless me by placing your hand on my head..."

Cried I, Te forest boy, fearlessly

falling upon the master's feet in awe.

An earth-trampling foot-stomp was heard

And the master did draw back his feet;

Raising my eyes I saw in Arjuna's eyes,

The blooming of sarcastic pride.

"Thou art Anarya",

And there is no rule to preach

The art of dart to Nishadas,

as per sruthis' say..."

"The merciless darts you have sent in words,

When once I came begging the art from you

stuck still in the butt of my heart...

My inners jerked, hearing those

feigned words came from your graceful tongue..

I modelled  your idol in clay

And seated it afront my practice-pit.

Fancying it as the  'master of mind'

I worshipped with garlands and fumes.

Knelt in humble prayer all day

And sobbed out my heart in faith.

Thinking of those cruel castestic norms

that denies justice to Nishadas

Tear-drops streamed off my eyes..."

In the golden morn of the fortieth day

A radiance sprouted from the idol's forehead

A touch of warmth I felt on my brow

And I was Quake-Struck.

I took the bow, arrows gamboled in my finger-tips!

The denials and proscriptions all

Are nothing but dwarfish-pride

in the giant body of man...

Lucid truths cleared up in my heart!

You but none are my master,

Put your holy hands on me to bless."

"If a disciple  you are,

offer me your oblation!"

The master quoth and my inners chilled...

"I am content, my master,

What have  to offer?"...

I waited in awe with cupped up hands.

"THUMB OF YOUR RIGHT HAND...YOU GIVE..."
Anon the master ordained!

Rapture of pride, I saw

Blooming in Arjuna's eyes...

Rumbles of thunder in inner heart...

Devilish dance of gloom afront...

Pressure of blood-flow that rent the veins

A lightning ray on the layer of the brain...

Why, for the master, the oblation of my Thumb?

Conscience asked, but no reply came.

"Will the Lore deeproot sans oblations boy?"

The question echoed in Dharma sastras

"Will the dart yield, if thumb is chopped off?"

(The master in clay seemed to ask)

"No justice more sublime than sacrifice"...

The verse in Sruthi, rumbled in the ears...

 fishing-rod preyed with the earth worm of Dharma

is being hurled against me,by an unknown 'Someone'.

My self, the whale gulps it in a shoot

On the tender leaf-piece throbbed and then stilled

my valid thumb drip-droping blood

I saw glee in the Master's eyes !

"Dharma will save always"say the sastras...

But now I say "It will betray"...