Shri Pushpanjali: A Triumph Over Impersonalism, Part 30

BY: PATITA PAVANA DASA

Jul 19, 2012 — BLAGOEVGRAD, BULGARIA (SUN) — CONCLUSION

On the Passing of Sagar Singh

A townsman met a farmer once,
Crying in the road.
His eyes were moist with flowing tears,
As he sat upon his load.

"Why do you weep?" the townsman asked
The farmer all forlorn.
The farmer sniffed and choked a bit—
His face showed signs of scorn.

"The dearest friend I ever had,"
The farmer cried and cried,
"Was Sagar Singh the true and brave,
And now he gone and died!"

"If I searched for a finer soul,
Among the saints and kings,
I'd never find one true and brave
As beloved Sagar Singh!"

"Who is there who strolls this Earth,
As strong and pure of heart?
I loved him with a brother's love,
And grieve to see him part!"

"Forgive my tears—they're weakness, yes!
But understand my friend...
More dear to me than life itself,
This one who's met his end!"

"O—curse my fate!" The farmer sobbed;
The townsman wept as well.
Eyes moist with tears the two of them,
Upon the road they tell.

And finally the townsman,
Staggered to his feet.
He walked his way alone to tell,
Each soul that he did meet:

"Alas, my friend, now have you heard,
The news the farmer said,
The farmer's truest greatest friend,
Poor Sagar Singh is dead!"

The chimney sweeper and the priest,
The baker and the maid,
All cried until they could not cry,
For his salvation prayed.

Like fire gone wild did spread the news,
O pity this poor town.
Each shop closed early in the day,
Each face did wear a frown.

At last the mayor saw each man,
In mourning dressed in black;
And he inquired— "Who might it be,
That death has now called back?"

"Tis Sagar Singh, they answered him,
Have you not heard m'Lord?
Gone! Sagar Singh the friend of all,
And by all souls adored!"

The mayor told the vicar gray,
"Sound every steeple bell.
For tolling of its iron ring,
The saddest message tells."

He said unto the constables,
Who always guard the town,
"Broadcast this sad news everywhere;
Let flags fly half-way down."

The Maharaja arrived at last,
Pathetic was the scene;
He asked the mayor, 'Which soul has passed,
What might the problem be?"

The mayor and the priest did say,
"We've heard the saddest thing,
A saintly soul has left us, Sire,
Now perished Sagar Singh."

The monarch then appeared confused
And openly exclaimed,
I've never heard of Sagar Singh,
I've never heard his name!"

"You've never heard of Sagar Singh?!"
The citizens declared.
Surprised into each others eyes
The simple folk all stared.

"Who was he then?" the Maharaja,
Demanded to be told.
"Where is the corpse of Sagar Singh,
Grown stiff and lying cold?"

"Now that you mention it m'Lord,"
The citizens confessed.
"I think we've also been unsure,
I think we've only guessed."

"Then who's begun this rumor now?"
The sovereign lord did ask.
Each man was ordered: "Find out who!"
Each man took up the task.

And finally the men returned,
Unto their waiting king.
A farmer they had found in tears,
Who knew of Sagar Singh!

Unto that place where mourned the man,
Bereaved of Sagar Singh,
The citizens then led the way,
And showed him to their king.

Compassion filled the monarch's heart,
As he heard that mournful sound;
The farmer wept and sobbed and cried,
With fists he beat the ground.

The king said, "O I cannot bear,
To see my subject sad.
It must have been a terribly,
Great loss that you have had."

"Now won't you take me to the place,
Where his remains do lie?
I'll give respect to Sagar Singh,
Forgive me if I cry!"

The farmer sobbed, "I'll gladly show,
His final resting place.
I judge he went to Heaven by,
The sweet look 'pon his face!"

The farmer led His Majesty,
Into a barnyard shed,
And fell in tears beside the corpse—
A donkey lying dead!

The monarch's wrath was furious
His eyes glowed red as fire.
The citizens all gathered there,
Bowed low before their sire.

Said he, "Now have I come upon,
A village of great fools;
Who cry their hearts out for the death,
Of but a common mule?"

In life we can all rest assured,
Strange things will come to pass.
Yet still it seldom happens that,
town will mourn an ass!

Moral

The mass of people are like sheep
And easily misled.
They'll blindly do what others do,
And say whate'er they've said.

Such persons seldom think at all,
They only follow norms.
They waste their lives so uselessly,
And foolishly conform...

To what their leaders push on them,
and mold them all to be.
They shun the transcendentalist,
In truth whose really free.

Just publicize a photograph
Of any common man.
They'll say, "Just see how great he is!"
They'll all become his fan.

The karmi's world is now a place,
Of cheaters and the cheated.
Rascals running in disgrace,
Defeaters and defeated.

Yet worry not for there's a cure
A joyous end in sight.
Lord Krishna's Name comes as the Sun
Obliterating night.

Review

"Fashioned over a period of twenty-five years, Pushpanjali is a product of legion hours of Shri Patita Pavana Das' contemplation of our Hindu scriptural essence; lending of his ear to the voices of our sages, and circuitous peregrinations in over forty countries and to all parts of India in search of Enlightenment and the Supreme Absolute Truth. The personalities who form the core of Pushpanjali, Krishnadas and Nirvishesh, represent dual opposing voices locked within each of us: one that debates the path of struggle to become God; and the other who advocates victorious surrendered service before the Almighty Person Shri Krishna.

A natural poet, Shri Patita Pavana Das has indited his dialectic employing similitudes and ad rem quotations from our Sanskrit scriptures; and from the lotus mouth of his initiating guru Paramhamsa Bhaktivedanta Swamiji, probably India's greatest latter day Jagat Guru. Presented in conversational form, Pushpanjali preserves the Vaishnava mission of numinous sustentation from the confounded intellection of attributive identicalness with the all-pervasive Reality. Pushpanjali, a must-read for all qualified votaries, is also aimed at extricating the entangled soul from the debilitating web of mammon and mayavada. It deserves a place among classic Vaishnava literatures."

Dr. D. Arkasomayaji, M.A., Ph.D (Maths)
Sec'y. Hindu Dharma Prathisthanam,
Tirupati Recipient of the President's Award as a Sanskrit scholar,
ex-Principal D.N.R. College-Bhimavaram

This concludes our serial presentation of
Shri Pushpanjali: A Triumph Over Impersonalism

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