“On the Muddy Bed of Evening, Ganga! Amidst the Sorrow, what lament,
You’re sobbing, your gentle yearning lulls your heart’s soft unrest,
A tumultuous turmoil brews within, what boundless agony is this?
From which pain’s heavy burden did the tranquil stream’s flow deviate?
In the silent chamber of your mind, O beloved! What immense sorrow,
Becoming fragrance in the breeze, searching for a hidden path, so narrow?
Step into the realm of the past, on the wings of memory’s feathers,
Do you hear the distraught lament, the song of your Chandragupta’s victory?
Roaming within your eyelids’ abyss, a majestic and vast procession,
Is the glory of an era now gone? Is the great Emperor Ashoka in question?
In meditative visions, like an ascetic, absorbed in the grandeur of wealth,
From your pained throat, do you sing the resplendent saga of the Gupta dynasty’s health?
Echoing on this riverbank, Ganga! The teachings of Gautam’s lore,
Resonating in these waves, O goddess! The message of nonviolence’s core,
Cooing gently, the koel sings its soothing melodies branch by branch,
The same golden message arrives perpetually with Usha’s rosy advance.
Do you remember the countless victories, the garlands that adorned your feet?
How many times did the oceanic Ganges cleanse its shores with defeat?
On your arrow, the victorious monarch’s banner, how many tokens lay?
How many emperors performed the sacred ablution on your royal spray?
On the victorious Emperor Chandragupta’s pedestal, Saelyucus’ homage,
Do you recall, O goddess! The splendid adornment of Magadha’s visage?
Once, you cast your shade upon the world’s stage with your mighty arm,
Kings from Greece and Yavana bowed to your elevated charm.
The story of that bygone glory resides within these hushed shores,
A resonating fragrance, even now, in your forest flowers it pours,
Destiny’s actors played their part, destroying all that splendor fair,
In the ashes of Khandahar lies Magadha’s radiant sunrise’s glare.
Do you remember, my dear, that day of gold, the world’s grand parade?
One by one, crowns fell, the empire’s glittery dawn began to fade,
With every fall, the empire’s grandeur spread into the earth’s embrace,
The sparkling Indus dried, its miraculous form turned commonplace.
Burning in your royal necklace, the day the golden world turned to ash,
One by one, the ornaments fell, the splendorous adornments crashed,
The side where destiny had slept now lies still, its strength destroyed,
While the widow of the valiant Lichchhavi weeps, Vaishali’s fate is devoid.
You hold within you the treasure of man’s inner scripture, O queen,
Resounding with every step, the lustrous saga of dignity unseen,
O goddess! In your presence, the ancient glory’s tale unfurls,
In the blossoms of your woods, the fragrance of Surabhi still swirls.
The sound of soft musical notes, hidden within your grains of sand,
The echoes of clashing swords, the weapons of the Mauryan land,
Beneath your sacred feet lies the regal ruler’s triumphant stride,
Do you remember, O goddess, the blazing glory of Magadha’s pride?
Once upon a time, you overshadowed the entire world with your power,
Even the Greeks, inch by inch, would bow before your lofty tower,
In these silent shades, the saga of that past greatness does dwell,
Still echoing in the whispers of the wind, in your forest’s graceful spell.
Devi! Open the pages of both minds’ scriptures, you hold both their glory,
Every corner echoes, resonates, as you contemplate each story,
The present’s sorrow is indeed vast, bearing an immense pain’s load,
Yet, in the blissful memories too, the radiant past’s echoes still explode.
Let it be, today, on the twilight nuptial, Ganga! Slowly flow,
With a faint, soft sound, tell every village and town that you go,
“In the ruins of Khandahar, will the goddess of wealth awaken?
In the broken temple, when will the conch-shell of worship be taken?”
