If
yet you do not call them all to your doorstep with love
If
yet, filled with contempt, you stay apart
If
yet you keep yourself bound limb to limb
With the coils of your narcissim
Be
assured (my ill-fated country)- it is in Death, then
In
the ashes of your funeral pyre
You
shall finally be their equal. (Trans. MRC
10 2012)
To
me Bijaya is the wonderful realization of our own Ramprasad Sen that money and
riches are so utterly ephemeral and indeed debilitating. In one Kali song, speaking as a child to the
divine Mother, he says, (MRC translation):
Mother, I wish not to be a King, I have
no such desire.
Grant me that I may get
enough to eat twice a day.
Mother, my simple adobe hut is propped
up by bamboo poles
Grant me that I might find
the thatch to secure its roof-
My adobe hut, Mother, is my house of
gold-
What use have I for a
mansion?
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