My Trumpet, I blow
By pkroutray
- 217 reads
My Trumpet, I blow
My trumpet here I blow,
my vanity I dare show
brought about by the providence
where only my words are evidence.
With palms over sacred gospels
pray I “Please believe my tales.”
Peep within me such, many more
but them, these two overpower and floor.
Biding adieu to my alma-mater
in nineteen hundred seventy- summer
to get prepared and to try my luck
I selected to stay in city, Cuttack
with free evenings to cycle around
by side of the river and stadium ground
where one day I met a man renowned
he was Dhyanchand, in hockey the wizard crowned.
With him in the college, I had a short interaction
smilingly he welcomed me on my such introduction
without the ego of stature, fame experience, and age
that awe me now “Such great can be so average.”
I was amazed, after coaching he was left alone
no crowd, no media were there for adulation.
Seized the opportune to stay with him every evening
for a month when he left after his stint of coaching.
Hazily I remember our farewell was over Cuttaki Bara
which with me every evening he enjoyed in plethora.
I was naïve immature and a miniature
he was acclaimed as best with great stature
in between us then nothing could stand as a bar.
as a simple man never he considered him as a star
Gossiped we during our walk from the moon to Neptune
his early ambitions, his dedications, and his fortune
Elaborated he upon his “ No” to Aflof Hitler’s offer.
For him, as a true Indian he cannot betray his mother
so also his son then an Indian hockey star told “ NO”
To Pakistan’s tempting offer, he also did not bow.
With him, I had spent and enjoyed an evening show
unlike today's stars no film stars, then he did know.
With my knowledge, I introduced heroes and heroines
on today’s scale, he would have many queens and concubines
His love was game and game of hockey alone
then past sixty-five his wizardry then matched none.
Though with god gifted acumen for hockey was his inborn trait
never even that age practice any day, any session he left.
From his revelations as I gathered then
Hand to mouth, he stayed, he did never complain..
No car, no attendant no security to guard
walked freely with me a naive then, the wizard.
Fail I further to recall his verbal communications
Repent I now the opportunities I could not hold on.
Reflecting on the incidents with the present as comparison
how greats remained hidden only histories can dwell upon
Man of values lies hidden but Lord takes his care
the man of success blows his trumpets to claim his share.
Future may distinguish them to revere
No wealth and power can accompany the bier.
Chimayananda the great monk and monastery master
a freedom fighter, world-acclaimed spiritual leader
in nineteen eighty-six came he to Damanjodi
to talk on the wisdom of intellect mind and body
anything more listened to with pin-drop silence
After duty hours many came and listened to with patience.
I was the fortunate one to attend
bur used to lose patience towards the end
as soon the last prayer was over
I used to start my car to travel two miles for dinner
giving side to no vehicle, me to cross
being a senior officer I though me as the boss.
Heard once all on a sudden
a speedy car behind my car blowing horn
hurting my ego as the boss of the land
I did not allow the car till my mercy took the upper hand.
After a while to my embarrassment and awe
in the car that overtook me, Swamiji I saw
with palms to gather, hands folded
touching, again and again, his forehead
saluting my ego and audacity then.
Still I think to me whether it is boon or bane.
Since thirty-three years, the posture reverberate in me
for atonement, I got no chance to pray with the plea.
Pray him now, bow him with bent knee
to take it as Brahma in him saluting Brahma in me
ignoring his greatness in his mortal frame
considering me a mortal man diminutive and lame.
P K Routray
inn the service of Lord
(N. B – True facts, Dhyanchand was the greatest hockey player India produced. Chinmayananda is a great spiritual master of India.)
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