paroles de chanson Abhisar - Recitation - Bratati Bandhopadhyay
Ascetic
Upagupta
Lay
once
down
to
sleep
In
the
lee
of
the
walls
Of
Mathura
metropolis.
Gusty
winds
had
then
extinguished
All
city
lamp
flares
And
all
city
doors
Had
closed
against
comers
As
the
stars
in
the
night
sky
By
dense
clouds
lay
obscured
In
the
rain-month
of
Sravana.
Whose
anklet-ringing
feet
Struck
sudden
at
his
breast?
Awoke
the
monk
with
a
start
Inertia
by
dreams
inculcated
In
an
instant
fled
away.
Light
of
a
lamp,
so
severe
Shone
into
his
eyes,
So
beautiful
with
forgiving
mercy.
Drunk
with
the
wine
of
youth
Her
form
draped
with
stuff
Of
the
densest
blue.
And
jewels
trilling
and
tinkling
The
city
danseuse
going
to
a
tryst,
Her
feet
striking
the
slumbering
monk
Came
to
a
stop
Basabdatta.
Lifted
she
her
lamp
To
behold
his
fair
young
form,
Countenance
tranquil
tender
smiling
And
his
bright
forehead
Where
like
moonlight
Radiated
calm
serenity.
Spoke
she
in
pleasing
voice
Her
eyes
tinged
with
shame
"Forgive
me,
my
young
sir,
Have
pity,
come
to
my
home.
This
rigid
hard
earth
Is
no
place
for
you
to
sleep.
In
compassionate
tones
spoke
the
monk,
"Oh
lady,
loveliness
embodied,
Now
is
not
yet
my
time
Go
where
you
must,
prosperous
one.
At
the
right
time
will
I
come
To
your
arbour
Without
invitation.
Suddenly
the
storm
in
flames
of
lightning
Revealed
its
mammoth
face
And
the
woman
shuddered
in
dread.
On
the
wind
sounded
the
storm's
conch
of
doom,
In
the
firmament,
thunder
roared
a
laugh
In
mockery
intense.
...
The
year
not
quite
ended
Was
an
evening
in
the
spring
month
Chaitra.
Breezes
drifted
demented,
delirious
Buds
adorned
the
branches
Of
trees
on
the
highway.
In
the
king's
bower
bloomed
bakul
And
parul
and
fragrance
of
the
evening,
the
tuberose.
Far-off
came
the
intoxicating
tones
Of
bamboo
flutes,
borne
on
the
wind.
None
left
at
home,
all
the
citizens
Had
gone
to
the
flower-festival
At
the
Madhuban.
The
city
deserted,
seeing
which
Silently
smiled
the
full
moon.
On
the
empty
road,
in
the
light
of
the
moon
Alone
travelled
the
ascetic.
In
the
tree-clad
avenue,
above
his
head
The
cuckoo
called
ceaseless.
Had
his
long-awaited
night
of
tryst
Arrived
at
last?
The
city
left
behind,
staff
in
hand.
He
went
the
way
to
outside
the
walls.
Stood
on
the
edge
of
the
moat-
In
the
shadows
of
the
mango-grove
Who
was
that
abandoned
on
one
side
Almost
his
feet?
Dreadfully
diseased,
all
her
frame
Covered
with
pox
pustules
she
lay
Her
form
darkened
By
the
shadow
of
scourge.
City
people
had
brought
her
here
To
outside
the
city
walls
abandoned
Her
presence
to
them
a
poison.
The
monk
sat
down
and
took
up
Her
stiff
head
upon
his
lap.
On
the
parched
lips
he
poured
water
Recited
benedictions
upon
her
head
He
anointed
her
form
lovingly
With
cooling
paste
of
sandalwood.
The
mango-buds
dropped
off
the
branches
one
by
one
Sang
the
cuckoo
incessantly
All
the
earth
with
moonlight
lay
inebriated.
The
woman
asked,
"O
merciful
one
Who
are
you
that
have
come?"
"Tonight
the
time
is
apt
And
I
am
here,
Basabdatta",
Replied
the
monk.
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