by Bakul Banerjee
Nachiketa, the young sage who argued
with Death, is preparing the sacrificial fire,
but he must hold the door to the afterlife
closed for a while. I yearn to discover life
and learn about regeneration. I have yet
to unwind my consciousness, my Samskara.
The vision of the roaring fire surrounds me.
I crush wild strawberries beneath my feet.
“Are you here? Or is it an impossible dream?”
I call out to my destined sojourner. In my heart,
I heard your message to be here. I wait for you.
I have never been here before, yet I know
this place. The magnificient Datibatsu
of the famed Todaiji temple towers above me.
“There, you are.” I don’t know your name. You
stand behind the screen of incense and smoke.
The transparent charnel house floats between
us. This ancient temple is capable of storing
the heavy weight of my collective Samskara
if I choose to shake it out of my soul.
“Do you have any questions before we begin
our journey back?” I observe. No answer.
Your lips move and hands make gestures.
“Did you say you do not know what answers
will bring conclusions and happiness?” I wish
to clarify. The blossoming cherry tree drops
pale pink flowers on you as rings of smoke rise
from hundreds of haphazard, self-immolating
incense sticks honoring the Prince who
promised to teach how to end of suffering.
“Are you blessed by the Prince?” I ask.
“We, you and I, must untie our burdens
of accumulated Samskaras before I can be
ready to pass through the door that only
Nachiketa will open.” You do not respond.
“Shall we take turns in turning our bodies
in the charnal house?” I suggest. You nod
in agreement to this act of purification.
Why were we instructed to mourn our beautiful
lives, mostly filled with simple joy and
laughter, only tinged with occassional
melancholy? Why couldn’t we shed
our negative Samskara as we went along
regeneratng ourselves along the continuum?
Why do we lose and rediscover our beloved in
sacred places or do such places become sacred
after the loss? Why do we often mourn our
past? Is it because the wisps of happiness must
not be regifted? Rituals and thoughts strenthen
me. “Shall we begin the journey back?”
I ask for permission. You nod after a pause,
as if you are taking time to read my mind.
Together, holding hands, we dive into the deep
green, meandering river across the temple.
The journey to the past unfolds. You,
the stranger beside me, keep your head
under water. We watch fish, turtles go by.
Lotus flowers are caught among mangroves.
Slowly, I feel the weight of my Samskara
slipping away. Actions, good or bad,
imperfect reactions to burdensome duties
toward others and unpleasaent work float away.
We swim in unison toward the beginning.
Samskara: According to Swami Vivekananda,”Each work we do, each thought we think, produces an impression, called in Sanskrit saMskAra, upon the mind, and the sum total of these impressions becomes the tremendous force which is called “character.” A more common meaning of the word is a purification ceremony or rite marking a major milestone in one’s life, for example, the last rite. These rites are often associated with major changes in the human body.
Award winning author and poet Bakul Banerjee, Ph.D. published her first volume of poems, titled “Synchronicity: Poems” in 2010. For the past fifteen years, her poems and stories appeared in several literary magazines and anthologies throughout U.S. and India. She lives near Chicago and received her Ph.D. degree in computational geophysics from The Johns Hopkins University, Maryland.
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