Sarojini Naidu

Sarojini Naidu

1879–1949 · lived 70 years -- --

Sarojini Naidu was a prominent Indian poet and a key figure in the Indian independence movement. Known as the "Nightingale of India," her poetry often celebrated Indian culture, love, and patriotism, earning her acclaim in both India and abroad. Beyond her literary contributions, Naidu was a fervent nationalist, a suffragist, and a powerful orator who played a crucial role in India's struggle for freedom from British rule. She served as the first Indian woman to hold the office of Governor of a state in India.

n. 1879-02-13, Hyderabad · m. 1949-03-02, Lucknow

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Wandering Singers

Wandering Singers

WHERE the voice of the wind calls our wandering feet,
Through echoing forest and echoing street,
With lutes in our hands ever-singing we roam,
All men are our kindred, the world is our home.
Our lays are of cities whose lustre is shed,
The laughter and beauty of women long dead;
The sword of old battles, the crown of old kings,
And happy and simple and sorrowful things.
What hope shall we gather, what dreams shall we sow?
Where the wind calls our wandering footsteps we go.
No love bids us tarry, no joy bids us wait:
The voice of the wind is the voice of our fate.
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Bio

Identification and basic context

Sarojini Naidu, born Sarojini Chattopadhyay, was a pioneering Indian poet and political activist. She is widely celebrated as the "Nightingale of India" for her lyrical poetry and her significant role in the Indian independence movement. Her life and work embody a powerful fusion of literary artistry and unwavering commitment to social and political reform.

Childhood and education

Born into a prominent Bengali family in Hyderabad, Sarojini received an excellent education. Her father, Aghorenath Chattopadhyay, was a scholar and philanthropist, and her mother, Barada Sundari Devi, was a poet. Sarojini excelled in her studies, mastering several languages, including English, Bengali, Urdu, and Persian. She attended the University of Madras and later pursued higher education in London at King's College and Girton College, Cambridge, where she continued to hone her literary talents.

Literary trajectory

Naidu's poetic journey began early, and she published her first collection, 'The Golden Threshold,' in 1905. This was followed by 'The Bird of Time' (1912) and 'The Broken Wing' (1917). Her poems were admired for their lyrical beauty, rich imagery, and themes that often celebrated Indian life, nature, love, and the nascent spirit of Indian nationalism. Her literary success brought her international recognition, and she became known as the "Nightingale of India." She continued to write throughout her life, though her political activities increasingly took precedence.

Works, style, and literary characteristics

Sarojini Naidu's poetry is characterized by its musicality, vibrant imagery, and often romantic themes. She drew inspiration from the rich tapestry of Indian culture, folklore, and landscapes. Her style is lyrical and evocative, with a strong sense of rhythm and melody, which earned her the "Nightingale" moniker. Common themes in her work include love, beauty, death, patriotism, and the spiritual aspects of Indian life. She often employed traditional poetic forms but infused them with a distinctly Indian sensibility. Her language is elegant and accessible, making her poetry popular among a wide audience. Her later poems also began to reflect her growing political consciousness and her commitment to India's freedom.

Cultural and historical context

Naidu lived during a pivotal period in Indian history, marked by the struggle for independence from British colonial rule. She was a contemporary of Mahatma Gandhi, Jawaharlal Nehru, and other leading figures of the Indian National Congress. Her life spanned significant political events, including the Non-Cooperation Movement, the Civil Disobedience Movement, and the eventual attainment of independence. Her poetry served as a source of inspiration and national pride during this era, articulating the aspirations of a nation striving for self-determination.

Personal life

Sarojini Naidu married Govindarajulu Naidu, a non-Brahmin physician, in 1898, a union that challenged the prevailing social norms of the time. She had four children. Her intellectual and political engagements led her to form strong bonds with many leaders of the independence movement. Her speeches and writings were often infused with a deep sense of compassion and a commitment to social justice, advocating for women's rights and the eradication of untouchability.

Recognition and reception

Naidu received widespread acclaim for her poetry, both in India and internationally. She was awarded the Kaisar-i-Hind Medal by the British government for her public service, though she later renounced it in protest against British policies. Her political activism was equally recognized; she presided over the Kanpur session of the Indian National Congress in 1925, becoming the first Indian woman to do so. She was a prominent voice in national and international forums, advocating for India's cause.

Influences and legacy

Naidu was influenced by Romantic poets like Tennyson, Keats, and Shelley, as well as by the Indian poetic traditions. Her own legacy is profound. As a poet, she brought Indian themes and sensibilities to a global audience. As a political leader, she was a courageous advocate for freedom and equality. Her role in the independence movement and her pioneering efforts in promoting women's rights and social reform continue to inspire.

Interpretation and critical analysis

Critics have analyzed Naidu's poetry for its blend of Eastern and Western influences, its lyrical qualities, and its role in articulating nationalist sentiment. Her work is often seen as a bridge between traditional Indian culture and the emerging modern Indian identity. The themes of love and patriotism in her poetry are often interpreted as expressions of both personal emotion and collective national aspiration.

Curiosities and lesser-known aspects

Despite her aristocratic background and international acclaim, Naidu remained deeply connected to the common people of India. Her eloquence and charisma made her a powerful public speaker, capable of galvanizing crowds. She was also known for her sharp wit and her ability to navigate complex political landscapes with grace and determination.

Death and memory

Sarojini Naidu passed away in 1949. Her death was mourned by a nation that recognized her immense contributions to literature and its struggle for freedom. She is remembered today as a national hero, a celebrated poet, and a tireless champion of human rights and Indian independence. Her works continue to be studied and cherished, and her life serves as an enduring example of dedication to art and nation.

Poems

26

The Illusion of Love

The Illusion of Love

Beloved, you may be as all men say
Only a transient spark
Of flickering flame set in loam of clay –
I care not …since you kindle all my dark
With the immortal lustres of the day.


And as all men deem, dearest, you may be
Only a common shell
Chance-winnowed by the sea-winds from the sea –
The subtle murmurs of eternity.


And tho’ you are, like men or mortal race,
Only a hapless thing
That Death may mar and destiny efface –
I care not … since unto my heart you bring
The very vision of God’s dwelling-place.
304

Street Cries

Street Cries

WHEN dawn's first cymbals beat upon the sky,
Rousing the world to labour's various cry,
To tend the flock, to bind the mellowing grain,
From ardent toil to forge a little gain,
And fasting men go forth on hurrying feet,
Buy bread, buy bread, rings down the eager street.


When the earth falters and the waters swoon
With the implacable radiance of noon,
And in dim shelters koïls hush their notes,
And the faint, thirsting blood in languid throats
Craves liquid succour from the cruel heat,
Buy fruit, buy fruit, steals down the panting street.


When twilight twinkling o'er the gay bazaars,
Unfurls a sudden canopy of stars,
When lutes are strung and fragrant torches lit
On white roof-terraces where lovers sit
Drinking together of life's poignant sweet,
Buy flowers, buy flowers, floats down the singing street.
703

Past and Future

Past and Future

The new hath come and now the old retires:
And so the past becomes a mountain-cell,
Where lone, apart, old hermit-memories dwell
In consecrated calm, forgotten yet
Of the keen heart that hastens to forget
Old longings in fulfilling new desires.


And now the Soul stands in a vague, intense
Expectancy and anguish of suspense,
On the dim chamber-threshold . . . lo! he sees
Like a strange, fated bride as yet unknown,
His timid future shrinking there alone,
Beneath her marriage-veil of mysteries.
427

Ode to H.H. The Nizam Of Hyderabad

Ode to H.H. The Nizam Of Hyderabad

DEIGN, Prince, my tribute to receive,
This lyric offering to your name,
Who round your jewelled scepter bind
The lilies of a poet's fame;
Beneath whose sway concordant dwell
The peoples whom your laws embrace,
In brotherhood of diverse creeds,
And harmony of diverse race:


The votaries of the Prophet's faith,
Of whom you are the crown and chief
And they, who bear on Vedic brows
Their mystic symbols of belief;
And they, who worshipping the sun,
Fled o'er the old Iranian sea;
And they, who bow to Him who trod
The midnight waves of Galilee.


Sweet, sumptuous fables of Baghdad
The splendours of your court recall,
The torches of a Thousand Nights
Blaze through a single festival;
And Saki-singers down the streets,
Pour for us, in a stream divine,
From goblets of your love-ghazals
The rapture of your Sufi wine.


Prince, where your radiant cities smile,
Grim hills their sombre vigils keep,
Your ancient forests hoard and hold
The legends of their centuried sleep;
Your birds of peace white-pinioned float
O'er ruined fort and storied plain,
Your faithful stewards sleepless guard
The harvests of your gold and grain.


God give you joy, God give you grace
To shield the truth and smite the wrong,
To honour Virtue, Valour, Worth.
To cherish faith and foster song.
So may the lustre of your days
Outshine the deeds Firdusi sung,
Your name within a nation's prayer,
Your music on a nation's tongue.
582

My Dead Dream

My Dead Dream

HAVE YOU found me, at last, O my Dream? Seven eons ago
You died and I buried you deep under forests of snow.
Why have you come hither? Who bade you awake from your sleep
And track me beyond the cerulean foam of the deep?


Would you tear from my lintels these sacred green garlands of leaves?
Would you scare the white, nested, wild pigeons of joy from my eaves?
Would you touch and defile with dead fingers the robes of my priest?
Would you weave your dim moan with the chantings of love at my feast?


Go back to your grave, O my Dream, under forests of snow,
Where a heart-riven child hid you once, seven eons ago.
Who bade you arise from your darkness? I bid you depart!
Profane not the shrines I have raised in the clefts of my heart.
489

Indian Love Song

Indian Love Song

She


LIKE a serpent to the calling voice of flutes,
Glides my heart into thy fingers, O my Love!
Where the night-wind, like a lover, leans above
His jasmine-gardens and sirisha-bowers;
And on ripe boughs of many-coloured fruits
Bright parrots cluster like vermilion flowers.


He


Like the perfume in the petals of a rose,
Hides thy heart within my bosom, O my love!
Like a garland, like a jewel, like a dove
That hangs its nest in the asoka-tree.
Lie still, O love, until the morning sows
Her tents of gold on fields of ivory.
862

Leili

Leili


The serpents are asleep among the poppies,
The fireflies light the soundless panther's way
To tangled paths where shy gazelles are straying,
And parrot-plumes outshine the dying day.
O soft! the lotus-buds upon the stream
Are stirring like sweet maidens when they dream.


A caste-mark on the azure brows of Heaven,
The golden moon burns sacred, solemn, bright
The winds are dancing in the forest-temple,
And swooning at the holy feet of Night.
Hush! in the silence mystic voices sing
And make the gods their incense-offering.
366

In Salutation to the Eternal Peace

In Salutation to the Eternal Peace

Men say the world is full of fear and hate,
And all life's ripening harvest-fields await
The restless sickle of relentless fate.


But I, sweet Soul, rejoice that I was born,
When from the climbing terraces of corn
I watch the golden orioles of Thy morn.


What care I for the world's desire and pride,
Who know the silver wings that gleam and glide,
The homing pigeons of Thine eventide?


What care I for the world's loud weariness,
Who dream in twilight granaries Thou dost bless
With delicate sheaves of mellow silences?


Say, shall I heed dull presages of doom,
Or dread the rumoured loneliness and gloom,
The mute and mythic terror of the tomb?


For my glad heart is drunk and drenched with Thee,
O inmost wind of living ecstasy!
O intimate essence of eternity!
364

In The Forest

In The Forest

HERE, O my heart, let us burn the dear dreams that are dead,
Here in this wood let us fashion a funeral pyre
Of fallen white petals and leaves that are mellow and red,
Here let us burn them in noon's flaming torches of fire.


We are weary, my heart, we are weary, so long we have borne
The heavy loved burden of dreams that are dead, let us rest,
Let us scatter their ashes away, for a while let us mourn;
We will rest, O my heart, till the shadows are gray in the west.


But soon we must rise, O my heart, we must wander again
Into the war of the world and the strife of the throng;
Let us rise, O my heart, let us gather the dreams that remain,
We will conquer the sorrow of life with the sorrow of song.
330

Ecstasy

Ecstasy


Cover mine eyes, O my Love!
Mine eyes that are weary of bliss
As of light that is poignant and strong
O silence my lips with a kiss,
My lips that are weary of song!
Shelter my soul, O my love!
My soul is bent low with the pain
And the burden of love, like the grace
Of a flower that is smitten with rain:
O shelter my soul from thy face!
370

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