by M.Mohankumar
If the world began with a bang, as they say
it did, what was there before that bang?
Darkness, says the Vedic hymn,* darkness
swathed in darkness. And silence, to be sure,
a brooding, primordial silence.
And when the world ends, as it is bound
to do— who knows whether with a bang
or a whimper— there will be silence again,
a timeless, dark, brooding silence.
Silence before; and silence after.
And in between, unceasing waves
of sound. Swelling and roaring and crashing
on the vast shores of silence.
Pythagoreans observed a five-year silence,
claiming that it was a higher form of speech.
And they were admired in their days
more than the great masters of eloquence.
Gandhiji said: we have turned golden silence
Into brazen din and noise. His advice: speak
only if it improves upon the silence.
And he observed silence on Mondays.
I like short spells of silence when I can
withdraw into myself, and read or write.
I admire the silence of the wise man
who never ‘spills the beans’. And most of all,
I enjoy the silence in the music hall
even as the last notes of the last song
sink and fade in the heart, the listeners
still in their seats, self-absorbed.
*Hymn of Creation, Rig Veda
