-B Hariharan and Purobi Tara Chowdhury

Who am I to judge? Does one have to judge at all? It is true that an argument is shaping up strengthening a case. Let us realize that it cannot be dispensed with so easily; it is in verse here, it can get worse. A Daniel can come to judgment but poets do not. A poem can only be presented before the listener/reader. S/he, in turn, listens/reads to discover the thoughts that come up at that point or even later. Thoughts are not judgments. To have thoughts is the first step to some kind of perception, of understanding. For this reason, to see the elephant one must go to the other room, one must learn to see, and one must learn how to listen; to tell the truth, it is a different story.
The eight poems that evolved contrapuntally tried to see and listen to the elephant that walked into the other room. The elephant is a possibility in poetry. Or still, it is the dance of the elephant on the pages, in our minds. Instead of passing any judgment, O reader, shake a leg and learn how to dance with your elephant. Then you will see the elephant in the room.

The Elephant in Hiding

The elephant hides in full view of the public
In an endless, elephantine, epical catalogue.
 
Some elephants march on highways,
Gorge rice from fair price shops
Or relish jackfruit and bananas.
Some are called stylish names after blockbusters
While others discover chains in festival grounds.
 
Some try to draw the elephant blind-folded
Which is much more than a game.
Others petition the courts
But no elephant takes the witness stand
For the question has to do with who should see!
 
I forgot to tell your lordship that
The elephant is in another room.

-B Hariharan

The Tusker’s Task

My Lord
I, Elephas, have been tasked
To carry my weight in gold
When merchants have felled timber
In a manner so bold
With no thought of land nor deed
Our herds need no title deed.
Man who has an infinite need
For labor and land, beyond all greed
Now cries foul as I stand my ground
And so it is that I am bound
To petition your Lordship from this pedestal
For who other than you, in the name of justice
Can the human stall, when man kills fellow creatures
And point out in verdict, that the game
Is not fair at all
Not to our ancestors, both yours and mine
When man seeks to bring down this planet
By design divine.
Do not worship me or dress me up
Or chant paens in praise
When you leave me in a daze
When in elephant corridors I am knocked down
As I move along with the herd to graze.
Do not hide your sins, the game is up
This is my clarion call, as I trumpet away
Your Lordship, I plead with you
Save our planet and the day.
I , Elephas, who have walked the Earth
For 55 million years, when it was green
Plead before your Lordship
Hear my plea, even though I may be unseen.

By Purobi Tara Chowdhury

Half Truth

I am sorry, my lord, but I can only swear
By the half-truth that has engendered me.
There were three lakh ninety three thousand
six hundred and sixty of us
readied for an epic battle that lasted eighteen days.
I remember it clearly –
Half-truths cannot be forgotten –
It was the fifteenth day
As the casualties mounted
With strikes and counter strikes
And no end in sight.
Much the same as what you read in newspapers today:
The only difference is that there is no more counting.
The software to tally the death toll does not work;
I have no apology for being up-to-date.  
You must realize I have been around for some time
Yet it is your will to wipe me off your vision.
I have not forgotten after all these years:
After telling, retelling, then telling again,
I was named into an existence not my own.
It stuck like nothing before, a blot as black as ever.
Isn’t it strange to be whispered a name, an identity?
I don’t remember my lot having such names.
The bearer of my name, the epic tells,
Wanders, condemned to immortality.
We are called other names now.
The stigma is still there
For no fault of mine.
I plead not guilty.
Did something of that curse touch us?
Condemned to corridors, reserves, zoos,
The depleting forest cover,
The estates and plantations come in our way:
We wander in search of food and water.
How would you look at us now?

–B Hariharan

The ears that hear

I hear you, I hear you,

Despite the chaos all around

To which I must turn a blind eye

And wear the blindfold of Dhritarashtra

To keep his Queen Gandhari, company.

And the scales of Justice are tipped

In all fairness, by one blindfolded.

O progeny of Ashwathama

Condemned to immortality

By one who had sworn his allegiance to Truth

As I have mine, I listen

And I hear in all earnest.

I hear the trumpeting calls of the wild

The distress in those sounds

Carried to my ears, when the night is silent

And I am bound by the oath have taken

The pledge to save humanity from itself.

I hear you, I hear you

In the stories my forefathers told

Of a brave elephant whose life was sacrificed

So that the honor on the battlefield would uphold

And the mighty would lay down their arms

Come out, vulnerable and bare

On a half truth that travelled through cries that rent the air

Ashwathama ( the elephant) is dead.

I hear you, O Elephas, Chinnakomban, Arikomban

All the identities you carry and that you dare

To challenge, as you stand before me, humble and aware.

Your petition carries the might and the weight

Of all the elephant warriors, lakhs before you who met their fate

You, Elephas, are not to be doomed

I listen and  I hear, even behind the blindfold

I will uphold the pledge as the Truth unfolds.

Purobi Tara Chowdhury

In response to B. Hariharan

To look in the eyes

Have you ever wondered how I see you?

How to see and what to see, that is the question:

I have no guile in my thoughts, words, or how I see.

Come, learn to look from my perspective.

You deck me, climb on my back with the deity

While another stands behind with other paraphernalia.

You behold me and say it is a majestic view; I can see it in your eyes. 

You recognize in it elevation, then your elation.

But what have you seen of me? 

My tusk and trunk?  My skin? 

And you say I am thick skinned.  Pachyderm.

I can see how you see me from what you have made of me.

You make me into a presence.  Present. And I search your eyes in vain.

I am absent in your eyes.

Tell me, are you looking at me?

Do you know how to look into my eyes?

Come, see how you look at yourself through my eyes.

B. HARIHARAN IN RESPONSE TO PUROBI TARA

The vision of the blind

I see you, I see you, I see you

In a thousand ways, in a thousand years

As elephant headed deity, to whom I bow

For the wealth and prosperity that I know

I know how to plunder from right under your nose

Just as the mouse gnaws at the modak, near your toes

I do this because I know of your generosity

So in your benign grace, I prostrate myself in your face.

I think you will turn a blind eye, that you cannot see

How I plunder from right under your feet

The land which you tread, and creatures dread

As you sway, from side to side, protecting your herd

I’m the one, I do not see, the lofty elephant’s generosity.

You see man is born with two eyes

But is blind till he dies

In some,  in whom  wisdom holds sway

The third eye, close to the temple, opens they say

But for others who touch their heads to the ground

And don’t see things, as you do, profound

Don’t know the tenderness of your gait

Who make you carry burdens, double your weight

O protector of mankind, my brothers have indeed lost their mind

They have lost it in the wind that whistles

Through fallen trees, they see it not

In your eyes, that gently weep

They call you crazy as you struggle to find

Lost ground, that was yours

But in reality, we humans are lost

In our absence of mind.

Purobi Tara Chowdhury in response to B. Hariharan

The colour of truth

The court is called into session.

Is it fair to ask the learned judge the colour of truth?

I have this doubt when I look at myself.

Even my tusk, I am told is ivory!

Yes, you very well know

I always carry a price on my head!

To tell the truth, I am always at risk

As there are many head-hunters around.

Is there a provision, I ask

To get Z category protection with black cats?

Allow me to ask you this as well:

Whose idea is the white elephant?

They roam freely in the country,

A part of the state machinery:

What remains is

The nirvana of stink sanitised incense sticks 

Even when the coffers are emptied!

Objection, my Lord!

Objection overruled.  Please continue.

As for the damage done to the system,

I reserve my comments

Caught as we are in the yarn,

Now blacker than our skin.

The galleys block us in big letters:

You stare at headlines, black in white.

I must trumpet this loud:

I still don’t know the colour of truth!

Know this then:

Truth is an unseen smudge in the edge.

Court adjourned sine die.

B Hariharan in response to Purobi Tara

Ebony and Ivory

Order, order, order

Where is the elephant

The one labelled crazy, Arikomban

And what has he done to upset humans

As they go about their lives in a manner hum drum.

Bring him in, bring him in

There’s no need for him to hide

If he does, man will skin him alive.

The time has come for him to speak

From Chinnakomban to Arikomban

This is not the time to be meek

I want everything in black and white

There should be no areas of grey

To him please do convey

If he wants to save his hide

From this creature called man, gone insane

Who is he to label and blame?

I hear thousands of cases, night and day

I cannot help but notice humans have gone astray

They lead the way, in this foot in mouth disease

They gag and hide the facts, and then declare the creature deceased.

So, Elephas, have your say

Beautiful creature, who once held sway

Over forested lands, so verdant and green

With your ivory tusks, you towered as queen.

Who dares bring you down

Said the judge with a frown, mankind will drown

If balance is not restored, and the color of truth

Must reign, in blue skies and green forests again

If Earth is to regain her  pristine glory once again.

It is not you, Elephas or Arikomban to blame

We must banish the white elephant and restore your name

So that you can walk proud, and so can we

Hand in hand, Man and Nature, in harmony.

Purobi Tara in response to B. Hariharan

Paper elephant

The elephant endures in the mind

Taking many forms:

King, devotee, loner, rogue, and much more

Occupying spaces of the mind

And even the State emblem.

“Exhibits present in the case admitted”

The King Elephant in an old story attained moksha.

The caparisoned elephants roam all around

Still chained to custom:

What else is it but

The nourishment of the superego of a people?

Contradictions speak truths

The verdict has been pronounced.

Would paper elephant be another idiom?

B. HARIHARAN IN RESPONSE TO PUROBI TARA