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The poet, after a respite, comes to herself. She mends her
fences, fortifies her defences and comes to grips with life. She
avers, "Man hi man/ hun/ tera kiha duraundi/ Zindgi naal
nawin sanjh paundi/ tun tan jaandi sakhie/ Dadha aukha karam eh
jiuna/ Murh murh melde khaheshan de naag/ murh mohndian chorian
yarian." (I repeat your words in my mind again. I enter
into relationship with life. You know dear, how hard is the act
of living! The serpents of desires come wiggling from all sides
and again I am lured to taste the forbidden fruit.)
For the moment the
poet is put out. But she again picks up the pieces and relates
her situation in a flashback. She recounts, "Oh sama
beet giya/ Jis ‘ch asin ik duje de san/ shuru hoiyan chorian
yarian/ Rah ‘ch kujh rutbe si khare/ kujh kharhian chakarian/
Hun jad wi/ Mai dhah ke tere wal vadhdi/ Tera jism tan wadhda
mere wanni/ Par aujharh pia man tera/ kas dhilli pa dinda/ Jagna
hi si shikwa... pher pher kite ahid/ Pher pher hoe waade/ Es
pher ‘ch tuttia badan." (Gone are the days when we
belonged to each other. Then followed a round of duping and
deceiving. Some allurements and professional compulsions
intercepted us on the way. Your body did respond to my advances,
though your mind deviously strayed away. Ultimately, the grip
loosened. Again there were grouses... again there were promises
and in this ‘again’ and ‘again’ the body dissolved.)
In a sensitive
poem, "Chamba" (a covey of sparrows), the poet
beautifully charts the destiny of a woman from days of raw youth
to mature old age. The helplessness that most women have to bear
in traditional societies has been brought forth here. The poet
states, "Phudkdian hassu hassu kardian/ Dul dul
paindian/ Eh kurhian / Pata nahin kehrhe deson audian / Te
kidhar tur jandian/ Ek chirhian umar bhar labhdian banere/ Jina
te beh chiu chiu kar sakan/ Chug sakan do wele da dana dunka/
chunj ihna di ‘ch/ Sari umar phasia rahinda/ Iko hi dana/ Jis
da na muhabbat". (Nobody knows from where they come and
where they go, the girls gleefully skipping and dancing around
— sparrows in life-long search for a cosy perch where they
could chirp and chant, feed and feast, pecking at the grain of
love.) These sparrows, the poet says keep on weaving colourful
dreams that lead them to the enchanted fairylands where milky
fairies in milky robes ride on ethereal swings. But the
dream-world does not last long. The poet ultimately realises
that the world around is totally heartless. Says she, "Bahut
nikaria tun mere vajuud/ Bahut bhogia mai apna unhonapan."
(You often discarded my being and reduced me to utter
insignificance).
Somewhere in her
heart of hearts she nourishes a glimmer of hope that restores
her faith in life. She asserts in P. B. Shelley’s vein, "Bahaar
tan aegi/ Same nu kaun rok sakia janam/ Bahaar tan aegi".
(The spring shall arrive at last. Who could stop the march of
time, dear!) With this note of optimism, Manjitpal ends her tale
of love and longing, failure and frustration, dejection and
despair.
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THE
Punjabi literary world is dotted with several women poets. Two of
them, Amrita Pritam and Prabhjot Kaur, are nationally known and
their works have been translated into several languages. There are
quite a few others who have also been constantly creative and
getting published year after year. Manjitpal Kaur, a professor of
Punjabi at Guru Nanak Dev University, Amritsar, is one such poet.
She has already published five collections of poems, the latest
being "Ahsaas" (realisation), published by Ravi Sahit
Parkashan, Amritsar.
