Thought: One Hundred and Forty-One.
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The repository of Bengali language materials on the internet is extremely limited and flawed. You won’t find many excellent and essential literary resources and specimens online. There isn’t even a single reliable Bengali dictionary available online. This is a matter of great regret and shame.
Bangla Academy has delivered into our hands the finest dictionary of the Bengali language, the ‘Evolutionary Bengali Dictionary.’ We owe our gratitude to the respected and diligent writer Golam Murshid for this work. An online version of this extraordinary dictionary would have been immensely beneficial to Bengali speakers. It’s not always possible to carry around such a massive three-volume dictionary of such weight and size. Moreover, most of our students lack either the financial means or the inclination to spend 2250 (or 2400) taka on a dictionary. Had this treasure been available online, it could have served not only our needs but also those of Bengali speakers in other regions. This would have enhanced Bangladesh’s prestige as well. The dictionary possesses all the qualifications to be ranked higher than its predecessors—the Bengali Word Repository, the Dictionary of the Bengali Language, or Chalantika. Justice Muhammad Habibur Rahman’s ‘Jathashobdo’ is the first Bengali thesaurus of synonyms, created by almost exactly replicating the subject matter and word arrangement system of Roget’s Thesaurus. This is our supreme treasure. I’m not saying the book is overpriced, but is it possible to carry it around all the time? You can find all the finest English dictionaries online. Consequently, when needed, you can easily use your cellphone to get whatever you require. Where is the care and sincerity that the English show in this matter? Online, you’ll find English literature, grammar—everything in English; but in Bengali, you’ll find only trash! Why? Resources in other foreign languages are also available online. Why don’t we have any such initiative? If Bangla Academy doesn’t undertake this work, who will? The task can be easily accomplished through government outsourcing as well.
Many important publications of Bangla Academy have been out of print for a long time. We see no initiative to reprint them. Who will bring back those desperately needed books from other publishers that have disappeared from the market? They won’t do this work anymore, because the commercial value of such exceptional work is minimal; therefore, the Academy must undertake this task. A wonderful translation of Bacon’s Essays was published from Bangladesh. That translation is no longer available in the market. There are countless such examples. We haven’t learned to safeguard our treasures. We are a most unfortunate nation.
We have never felt that Bangla Academy thinks about these important matters with much seriousness.
The finest dictionaries of the Bengali language inform us that both ‘Id’ and ‘Eid’ are current in Bengali. In ‘Alaler Ghorer Dulal’ we read: “Ramzan-Id-Soberat, I have made them meaningful.” Or, Akshay Kumar Datta wrote as early as 1850: “Whether Id, whether Muharram, no Muslim…” Alaol and Nazrul used the spelling ‘Eid.’ We have found ‘Eid’ in Mansur, Jiban, Begum, and Mohammadi magazines.
My opinion is this: let language proceed hand in hand with rules or grammar if it must, but when the kite of language soars on the faithful thread of cultivated usage or the emotions of common people, cutting that thread becomes a duty—such obstinacy is unnecessary and ridiculous. Where language is well as it is, let it remain well there in that way. What purpose does it serve to shackle language’s feet with unnecessary rules and make it bleed?
So we shall use both
‘Eid Mubarak’
‘Id Mubarak’
—both are ours, which one shall we cast away?
We won’t start any quarrel over this. When you spit upward, it falls back on yourself. We know well enough what becomes of brothers who fight over ancestral property!
We respectfully say to Bangla Academy: we want easy access to the beauty and wealth of our language,
we want to know it,
to understand it. If you would turn your attention to this task, it would be of great benefit to us. It is your duty to stand by those of us who want to understand,
write, and
read Bengali correctly.
There is no one else to do this work besides you. Where else shall we turn?
Thought: One hundred forty-two.
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Promiscuity and several other such habits pose threats to relationships. Many boys or girls want to marry someone who won’t easily catch on to these habits in them. They prefer to make life partners of those docile, tail-wagging types of simple, good girls or boys—those who can be easily deceived or from whom the truth can be hidden, and even when caught, can be managed quite easily through verbal dexterity! They avoid as much as possible choosing as life companions those sharp, prickly girls or boys who would understand everything immediately and create havoc once they do understand,
those who are constantly nagging and nitpicking.
But the truth is, it’s often seen that when caught in a major wrongdoing, that very simple-minded type of person suddenly becomes someone else entirely. Once angry, they can no longer be managed in any way. As a result, separations often occur.
On the other hand, those dominating types who are skilled at detective work and constantly shout and make a fuss even over small matters—they easily accept even major wrongs. They forgive and give another chance. They want to keep the relationship alive, don’t let it end so easily.
What kind of person will do what kind of thing—nothing can be said beforehand. Humans are creatures of an unknown species.
Day after day passes,
the windows remain closed.
No light comes, no air enters,
the room stays terribly stuffy.
Darkness is so dear to me
I belong to darkness,
I live in darkness.
When darkness is the final destination,
there’s no light, such terrible suffering—
what’s the use, tell me, of awakening death?
I imagine
when I go away ‘forever and far,’
you’ll burst out laughing—hahahaha hohohoho hihihihi. In harmony with that laughter the sky will laugh, the wind will laugh, the forest trees will laugh, the river fish will laugh.
Remember,
you once said,
if I send even one more text, you’ll slap my teeth right out!?
I felt like
writing and sending word:
avoid me one more time and I’ll bite down and shatter my teeth completely!
Ugh, in this winter
to escape the cold
I haven’t bathed
for three whole days!
Remember in summer
in fierce heat
I poured water
far too much!
I gave my word
I would repay
the excess account of excess water.
Take it back,
Queen Nature,
these three days’ worth of excess water!
The mothers of that era are still
young in this age!
By force of years!
The mothers of this era were young even in that age!
By the storm of fashion, facials, and cameras!
Our mothers married very young, which is why when their children turned 30,
they were only 45.
Without any age-concealing programs, through natural process they remained young. But we’ll marry at 30, and when our children turn 30, we’ll become 60-year-old hags!
If there’s another 5-year gap,
then 65! In modern digital life, polishing and ‘sizing’ ourselves,
through fashion and fuss, we might desperately try to pass for 45.
Ah, time!
It spares no one. Keeps everyone helpless.
I write these things
because I enjoy writing them. What can I do?
I too must survive!
There should be a rule about buffet eating—you should have to pay for whatever food remains on your plate!
So many ridiculous people—they pay a large sum and then pile all the world’s food on their plate. In the end they can’t finish it. If they had to pay for the leftover food on their plate,
they wouldn’t waste so much food.
There should be a rule about love—whoever leaves should be punished for however much pain they leave behind. So many cruel people—greedy for one heart’s true love, they pour out all the world’s false emotions. In the end their true nature emerges. If they had to face punishment for the pain they abandon, no one would leave after causing so much suffering.
I buy shoes to fit my feet and return home.
Coming home, I look and see—enormous shoes,
small in size!
In wonder, I cut both feet to fit the shoes; I bleed, yet I smile.
Suddenly I see,
where are the shoes?
Nothing but deception!
Thought: One hundred forty-three.
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Many people think of me as their own and confide in me their secret thoughts and their grievances about others. I listen attentively to everything and keep those words secret with utmost faithfulness. But I do one thing—no matter what someone tells me about another person, I speak well of that person and, even if they find it unpleasant, I share whatever understanding I have about how to maintain a good relationship with them. Naturally, everyone assumes that I like the person they’re talking about, and perhaps don’t like them. In the end, what happens is that the two of them bridge their differences and come together, while each of them privately thinks I am distant from them both. Alas! Yet I could have been close to both, if I had wanted!
Rather than all this gossip—speaking and listening—it’s better to see everyone getting along with everyone else. Whether life is beautiful or not, whether the harsh machinery of arguments and calculations grinds life down, still let life be beautiful—in simple, natural, effortless rhythm. We have only one life—we must live it here. If even that becomes ugly, then what else is left?
I often feel like making someone angry. It’s 3 AM now. The urge is still stirring. Another alternative desire circles in my mind. It would be wonderful to embrace someone and kiss them. My heart keeps saying, “Pinky! Beware! I’ll bite and cut your lips right off!” I want to kiss someone, yet no one wants to kiss me. Cruel, helpless heart. I have to live with such a heart. Does any of this make sense? My beloved, for whom I am not beloved, is traveling by bus this night. It would have been so good to sit on that bus. No, I don’t want to sit beside them and bother them—I would sit in a seat where I could see them, but they couldn’t see me. However much pain this causes me, I’ll turn blue with anguish if necessary, but one cannot cause suffering to the person one loves. Why does this foolish heart want precisely the one who doesn’t want me, who never even thinks about whether I’m alive or dead! I tell my heart: poison me to death if you must, but don’t torment me like this. The heart doesn’t listen. The heart abandons me and goes off alone to meet them.
Carrying a river of sorrow, I return as an ocean to that address where the old river lies dead. This is a new river—a dead river. No one has time to pour even a drop of water into this river. If one could give away one’s “time” to someone else, I would give them some of my time—when they don’t even have a moment to spare thinking about me!
One day you’ll see
everything around so empty,
where—
you won’t even find yourself.
That day, call me. I will come.
I write these things. How much more I think!
We live together. We’re doing quite well. It’s not that we don’t have our arguments, but we’re fine. She’s gone away somewhere for a week on business. Even after I repeatedly told her to pack everything properly, she gave me a thorough scolding for not remembering to pack two sky-blue t-shirts and one off-white shirt.
: I didn’t pack them on purpose.
: What do you mean? Why?
: I’m going to sleep with them. I’ll breathe in your scent to my heart’s content. You’re going away — what will I have to hold onto?
: Hahaha… alright, alright, that’s sweet, but surely there were other clothes you could have packed?
: Apart from those three, the rest are all washed. They don’t have your scent on them!
(Both fall silent for a moment on either end of the phone…)
: My silly golden weaver bird! You could have just said this then. Do you enjoy getting scolded?
: Mmm.
: You rotten thing! Just wait and see…
: What? Say it, say it!
: Muuuuuah…!
Beloved ones come in dreams and caress us with profound tenderness. In reality, no one ever comes.
For survival, dreams are better!
Thought: One hundred and forty-four.
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The university campus is a terribly cruel place — it steals childhood away. Pushing through the harsh and colorless days of childhood, the day I set foot in the university, I began to discover myself as ‘me’ bit by bit. As if all the colors of the world came and spread their wings across my eyes. What colors they were! Completely blinding! Leaving behind my gray, plain, cold childhood, I entered what seemed like a kingdom of color. And the day when this color appeared most brilliant was Pahela Falgun. So Pahela Falgun became my most beloved day. On this one day, I truly felt like a butterfly, carried on colorful wings to a land of multicolored flowers. What a thrill! The eager anticipation for that day! Even now I feel such joy thinking about it!
I often think that on my beloved day, I will disappear. I will be imprisoned forever. Color no longer calls me near. Today all my colorful dreams are pushing me away with fierce mockery. This time I truly want to go into exile. This isn’t called sulking. This is practical wisdom. I know that no one needs me anymore. What kind of life is it when no one wants you, when your life serves no purpose to anyone? What’s the point of living so unwanted?
Ah, love!
Why isn’t it a person? If love weren’t invisible but were a human being, then love—even if it hid beyond the world—I would drag it out and hack it to pieces, divide it into every last atomic fragment. Love would truly taste the pleasure of tormenting me then, dear sir. Love is the world’s most effective slow poison!
I know, love is a gift from the Creator. How terribly ugly a world without love would be! Alas!
This gift mostly falls into unworthy hands—
those who have no need for love or place no value whatsoever on it, and yet people sit there offering all their love to precisely such beings.
Pain—
And more… how much more can you torment?
Pain too, one day—
will grow weary. That day will be my day of wellbeing.
One by one, everyone will learn
how to live without loving.
By then, will you—
be able to learn
to live in unlove?
What am I saying to whom!
You already live exactly like that; no one can tell—such is your masterful performance!
Eyes fixed on the sky
waiting for rain
with darkness as companion
I can pass sleepless nights.
This is my desire,
my freedom,
my liberation…
Yet that doesn’t mean
rain will descend
just for me
alone.
I understand everything,
yet I live in dreams. What’s the harm?
Blue sorrow blue water breathless harsh breath conscious or unconscious mind’s blurred horizon… alas! All mine!
A life of air!
How much longer will it blow!
Some people live in this world solely to collect faults. They survive by hoarding blame. Those who make mistakes escape unscathed,
while these others live carrying the burden of those very mistakes on their shoulders. Someone has to misunderstand too. God sent them to this world so that everyone else could misunderstand them. They live as safe havens for misunderstanding.
An ad is playing on TV. For Mancheri milk candy.
What’s in your hand,
tell me?
What? What…?? Chocolate?
Sweet?
Mmm-hmm! Milk!
Watching the ad, Adritta suddenly burst into laughter.
She actually had two breasts in her hands, massaging them with oil.
She noticed that laughing feels good during times of pain.
Thought: One hundred forty-five.
……………………………………..
Morning words at seven
(Though for me it’s now eleven,
meaning I woke at eleven.)
Aaaahhhhheeeee…….(whispered)
I’m telling you,
listen—
Each dawn when I
gather drop by drop of dew
on love’s green grass
won’t you touch and see?
Today, perhaps, you need not
touch—
but on the day when I’m no longer
beside you,
when even the invisible becomes invisible—on such a day
when I must leave
for that unknown;
don’t search for me then.
Dew will gather on that day too,
just as it gathers at my touch,
in your terrible indifference.
On that day, touch and see,
hold me
in your
two
gentle hands.
I will perhaps watch, laughing,
think happily,
I am not here—
yet there, still, I am!
One day, a thought that passes three feet above your head—that very thought, crossing time, one day passes right through the center of your head, striking home.
Once—
the bald man
went to the bel tree only once.
And now……
the bald man
goes only to the bel tree!
Like Gabbar Singh from the movie ‘Sholay’
I want to say,
What will become of you, bald man?
If each day
I could see just once
you walking
along that dew-soaked path…….
Walking and walking. Not even glancing back.
Don’t be afraid,
I would never steal even a moment of your time.
I would just watch from this distance
why dawn recites tales of midnight
remaining innocent even while understanding all.
The advantage of screaming and wailing with a 102-degree fever, creating an unbearable nuisance that turns the house upside down, is that when you have a 105-degree fever, you can lie quietly curled up in a corner with complete peace of mind—
no one bothers you. Everyone assumes
that whoever was making such a fuss at 102 must surely be fine now!
Hahahaha…life
is so terribly beautiful! Shivering violently with fever!
No one notices,
‘How am I doing?’
No one feels the need to ask, if I died right now, no one would even know. Why is life so beautiful? I feel like going mad.
Love means
at any moment
all manner of scattered
thoughts swirling in the mind.
Drop by drop of thoughts,
along with
mountain-high grievances
wanting to speak
with complete ease.
A vast green field.
Two blades of grass side by side.
A silent love story.
Two pairs of feet.
A spoken love story.
The untimely death of first love.
This is life!
Well then, what is the external difference between sleeping and becoming senseless?
Or, what are they?
Or, does any exist at all?
Do people really sleep at night? Who knows! Some perhaps become senseless too. Who can tell!
While crying or thinking deeply about something, one eventually becomes senseless. When sense returns, they think they must have fallen asleep.
Couldn’t it be so?
How strange everything is…
The fever is rising. Let it rise! Let me have a little conversation with my mind…
Get up Atreyi,
get up; we have to go to the market!
I can’t I can’t I can’t!
Pull back the curtain in the room.
I did. So?
Has the sunlight touched you?
Mmm…
See? That sunlight has traveled 150 million kilometers to reach you,
and you can’t walk a few steps to go to the market!?
But it
came through radiation,
and I have to go through transportation. (Frowning) What hardship is there in radiation anyway?
Ah, you also need to see the terrifying difference in distance, darling!
Alright then, I’m going… (puffing up cheeks)
Distance distance distance! This distance makes all logic blunt!
Unbearable!
Thought: one hundred forty-six.
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During difficult times, one must be extremely careful about the person or people one leans upon, seeks help from, or finds refuge in their company to weather those hard days. There must be clarity in both words and behavior with them. Because the difficult time eventually passes, and then the earlier emotions no longer work the same way, but the person or people who stayed close become accustomed to an intimate relationship. Then one cannot simply abandon them at will, nor do enough feelings remain to keep them close. People tend to gravitate more toward new friends than toward friends from their troubled times. They give more time and room in their hearts to those who weren’t there during the bad days. Yet the friend from the difficult times is the true friend. Often we see that such a friend takes no offense at this unfair and unjust treatment, remains as well-wishing as before, but quietly steps aside. Human beings are such strange creatures that they don’t even notice this withdrawal! One cannot recognize true friendship by who stayed in touch or remained close during good times. Generally, we find that friends from lower stations stand by us more during hard times than friends from higher stations. Friends in high positions consider their presence an act of charity, while friends in lower positions consider it a responsibility. Though yes, there are exceptions to this.
A person unworthy of high position becomes mentally narrow because of it. One who measures friendship by status is never a friend at all.
In human life there exist certain pleasures that, to obtain, one must also endure many times more displeasure. Yet how easily people bear ninety-nine displeasures to gain that one pleasure. Though life would suffer no real loss if those pleasures didn’t exist. The bad things silently inflict great damage on life. People understand this, but too late—when the time to make amends has passed, or when correction becomes meaningless.
Life—alas, one realizes it only at life’s end!
Please forgive me. I hope you are well. My body is not well. I’ve been suffering from severe chest pain for three days. I can’t eat anything, it all comes back up. How easily I can tell you all this! Because I know you won’t suffer from my suffering. Is your body well? Eat three cloves of raw garlic on an empty stomach every day. How does that sound?
The name is ‘love handles’. Now what on earth is that?
The flabby fat that protrudes unsightly around the waist in a circular fashion — that’s called love handles. Fat bulging out around the waist — so much so that it sometimes hangs downward, catches the eye easily, and makes one uncomfortable even thinking about what others might be thinking. What kind of thing is that? Then why such a name?
The explanation is amusing!
When embracing from behind or during lovemaking in many positions other than missionary, this extra ring of fat works wonderfully
(!) for gripping; hence its name. But the word ‘love’
in this phrase is objectionable!
Who told these English gentlemen that there’s love
(affection) in those three activities?
These acts happen more from lust than from love. Are lust and love the same thing? Caressing or copulation can happen without any love or romance — mere desire for lust is sufficient. I have no objection to the ‘handles’
part — those skinny chameli types with zero figure don’t feel so pleasant to hold and caress. The body should be fit and free of excess fat — I accept that; but not too much, let the body be a bit soft, it actually increases comfort! So in my opinion,
‘Lust handles’ would be the perfect name! Well,
where and to whom should one apply to change an English phrase? I’m eager to petition about this matter of public importance.
I’ve been babbling nonsense for quite a while. Sometimes such babbling does no harm. My babbling I shall babble, however I wish to babble. There,
I’ve made it a rule! From now on everyone will babble in their own way! Whoever has however much sorrow,
they will babble that much. Through babbling they’ll reduce their sorrow.
Good father
Loving mother
Little one
Holiday
You
She/He
Mayabati (if a girl)
Phanus (if a boy)
Shadow…….
Emptiness…….
(I won’t say whose names the last two are; if I did,
you’d be hurt. All of life’s abnormalities are also a kind of normality. For those whose lives pass in abnormality,
that becomes their normality. Who are we to call them abnormal? Yet,
it’s difficult for us to accept that,
even difficult to think that way. Still I think such thoughts; I mean,
abnormal thoughts come to mind. In my mind I even kill my own dear loved ones. Then I see how it feels! If there’s a vast difference between imagination and real circumstances, then I think to myself,
I’m quite well off!)
So many things happen in life, one can’t quite tell whether they’re life’s gifts or curses.
One life. How much it shows!
How much happens in one life!
I’ve always deposited all my pain deep in my mind and tried to appear normal from the outside, or tried to be so. Those who don’t receive love can swallow pain very well. Like this,
I can.
Look, one day, I’ll return all the pain at once. Will you be able to bear the burden that day?
Are you laughing so very hard? Then laugh, keep on laughing. Let your life soar on laughter, just as the wind lifts a kite. Both are meaningless—yet this very meaninglessness makes life move. We live by finding meaning in the meaningless!
Actually, you are the one who’s doing well! Living anew in each moment, simply breathing, drowning in your own work—this is what’s good!
This way there’s no time left to think about others or to suffer.
This is good,
far too good.
But not everyone wants to be well in this way;
of course, even if those people wanted it, they couldn’t manage it. The chains of the heart are far stronger than iron chains. Those who wear these chains willingly are in great anguish. Those chains are stronger than death itself!
Love doesn’t stay long with someone who isn’t worthy of it, or who doesn’t understand its worth.
The mountain of love one day transforms into a peak of hatred and quietly disappears somewhere.
They think,
I am alone
I am sorrowful
I am wounded
I am drunk—
Perhaps mad!
I think alone,
I speak alone.
How can I make them understand, tell me,
that you too are with me,
merged in an invisible form!
Lost in conversation with you,
alone I laugh alone.
Life has so many different drafts,
doesn’t it,
tell me? Let me live in this draft then! A small life—it will pass!
Thought: One hundred forty-seven.
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Today is Ratha Yatra. There are various opinions about its origin. Let me share a few.
Krishna’s uncle Kamsa invited Krishna and Balarama to Mathura with the intent to kill them. He sent Akrura to Gokula to bring them. Bidding farewell to the gopis, Krishna set out for Mathura in a chariot with Balarama. After defeating Kamsa in battle, on the return journey by chariot, Krishna gave darshan to devotees in Mathura. That victory procession is today’s Ratha Yatra.
Once Sri Krishna, along with his elder brother Balarama and younger sister Subhadra, went out in a chariot to see the splendor of Dwaraka city. Ratha Yatra is celebrated to commemorate that day.
In the eighteen-day war of the Mahabharata, Sri Krishna became the charioteer of Arjuna’s chariot and the supreme guiding force of the Pandavas. Through Ratha Yatra, devotees make Krishna their charioteer and surrender all responsibilities of their life’s chariot to him.
After Balarama’s death, Krishna, yearning for his own departure, lay upon the ground in supreme yogic meditation. Then a hunter named Jara, mistaking Krishna’s feet for those of a deer, pierced them with an arrow. When he realized his error, the stricken hunter fell weeping at the wounded Krishna’s feet in fear and anguish. Sri Krishna consoled him, saying that this event was predestined. Due to the karmic consequences of actions from their previous births, he was leaving his body at this hunter’s hand. Nevertheless, when Jara repeatedly sought forgiveness and begged permission to worship Krishna, Sri Krishna instructed the hunter to first go south and then walk eastward along the ocean shore; in this way, when he would see the wood from Krishna’s funeral pyre floating in the sea, he should gather that wood and establish it for worship. After this, Sri Krishna abandoned his mortal body. Then Arjun, instead of sending Krishna’s remains to Dwaraka for funeral rites, carried them to the seashore with the intention of cremation, placed them on a pyre, and lit the fire. Following Sri Krishna’s command, the hunter Jara walked along the seashore until he reached Puri. Meanwhile, before the body was completely consumed by the flames, a mighty ocean wave struck and extinguished the fire. The pyre wood, along with some bodily remains, began floating in the sea. Near Puri, Jara collected that wood containing Sri Krishna’s remains from the ocean and established it in a deep forest, beginning worship in the form of Daru-brahma or Jagannath. This hunter Jara was Vishwavasu, king of the forest-dwelling Shabaras. At that time, Krishna appeared before King Indradyumna of Puri and commanded him to create an image from a piece of wood that would wash ashore at Puri’s beach. At the king’s request, Vishwavasu donated the pyre wood he had collected (containing Sri Krishna’s remains) to the king. The king began searching for a suitable woodcarver to create the image. Then a mysterious elderly Brahmin craftsman appeared before the king and asked for several days to complete the work. The craftsman informed the king that during the image-making, no one should disturb his work. The work began behind closed doors. The king and queen, along with everyone else, became extremely eager about the construction. Each day they would go near the closed door and hear the sounds of carving from within. After 6-7 days, when the king was standing outside, the sounds stopped. The overly enthusiastic queen, unable to contain her curiosity, opened the door and entered. She saw that the image was still half-complete and the craftsman had vanished. This mysterious craftsman was Vishwakarma, the divine architect. The king became dejected because the hands and feet of the image were not completed. He began to repent for interfering with the work. Then the divine sage Narada appeared before him. Narada consoled the king, saying that this half-completed image was an accepted form of the Supreme. Later, following Brahma’s command, King Indradyumna placed Sri Krishna’s bones within that half-finished image and arranged for worship by installing eyes, sight, and life-force in it. The three images created were Jagannath, Balarama, and Subhadra.
During the Ratha Yatra festival, the images of Jagannath, Balarama, and Subhadra are brought out from the main temple’s sanctum and taken in three enormous wooden chariots to the Gundicha temple, approximately 3 kilometers away. The devotees themselves pull these chariots. Wherever there is a Jagannath temple, such chariot festivals are organized.
Now let us see what various scriptures have written about chariots.
In the Katha Upanishad, Yama tells his son Nachiketa:
The person who makes intelligence the charioteer of his life-chariot, whose mind completely controls his five senses, can traverse this world in such a manner and reach his desired destination.
In the Ramayana, Ramchandra tells Vibhishana:
The wheels of our chariot of worldly journey are courage and determination,
immutable truth and character are its banner, its four horses are strength, discretion,
self-control and generosity, and devotion to God is its charioteer. In such a chariot one can overcome all worldly obstacles.
In the Mahabharata, Krishna became the charioteer of Arjuna’s chariot and led the five Pandavas to victory. If, while traversing worldly life in the chariot of existence, one surrenders all his destiny to the right charioteer, then he can walk on the path of fulfillment.
Ratha Yatra is essentially a strategy for recovering our lost soul. Ratha Yatra is the meditation of giving Krishna, that is God, a place in our hearts. The first step of this meditation is to purify the heart. The work of purification can be done by freeing oneself from lust,
envy, arrogance, greed,
anger and delusion. The philosophy of Ratha Yatra is not only to help oneself, but also to help others to possess beautiful hearts. In the chariot are Jagannath,
Balaram and Subhadra. Jagat means earth and nath means lord. Jagannath means the lord of the world, that is, the master of all activities of the world. Bal means strength and ram means joy. Balaram is he who gives us spiritual strength so that we can enjoy God’s blessings. Su means good and bhadra means welfare. Therefore, when Jagannath, Balaram and Subhadra are together, this trinity makes human life auspicious,
humans can recover their good fortune. We worship that trinity, we hold that trinity in our hearts. In the Gita, Sri Krishna says,
“I am in everyone’s heart.”
When God dwells in the heart, our body is nothing but a chariot. The charioteer of that chariot is our heart. The beautiful journey of the chariot is the beautiful journey of our life. Ratha Yatra is merely a philosophical endeavor to guide our lives on the path of truth and beauty.
Rabindranath Tagore wrote in Kanika—
Ratha Yatra, crowds of people, great tumult,
Devotees prostrate on the path in obeisance.
The path thinks
‘I am God’,
the chariot thinks
‘I am’,
The image thinks
‘I am God’—the Inner Dweller smiles.
The God we engage ourselves in worshipping does not dwell on the path,
does not dwell in temples, is not established in any image. God’s dwelling is in the devotee’s own heart. If that heart does not awaken,
we will forever remain deprived of God’s grace. The awakening of one’s inner power is the highest form of prayer. One who cannot recognize his own soul-force, relying merely on external religiosity and blind faith, cannot go very far. Religion is a matter of understanding,
not faith. The imitation of religious externalities devoid of knowledge and consciousness is nothing but helpless blindness. If we understood even the slightest bit of the religious rituals we observe so much,
then religion’s beauty would strengthen our personal and social position. God grants us good fortune through action, not through practiced religion. Faith and imitation are not religion, understanding and action are religion.