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Published on 26/4/26 in the GOAN EVERYDAY newspaper. Happy reading.
The Goan EveryDay: Twilight Tremors: When solitude meets companionship https://www.thegoan.net/life-sunday/twilight-tremors-when-solitude-meets-companionship/147224.html
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Indic Mythology Entices Irish Poet W.B. Yeats to write the poem ‘Anashuya and Vijaya’
Kamlesh Tripathi
“Anashuya and Vijaya” (1887) by W. B. Yeats is a lyrical and dramatic poem loosely inspired by Indic mythology. It begins by picturing a little temple in the Golden Age: “A little Indian temple in the Golden Age. Around it a garden; around that the forest. Anashuya the young priestess, kneeling within the temple.”
Although the poem contains elements of the Ramayana and some other classical Indian texts, it is not a direct retelling of Sita’s story. Yeats was enamoured by Indian philosophy and literature. He therefore decided to take Indian names and motifs, possibly selecting the name Anashuya (wife of Rishi Atri) from the Vedic texts of Hinduism to represent an idealised figure of devotion and spiritual sensitivity.
The poem is set in a serene and symbolic landscape. A small Indian temple surrounded by a garden and forest. This creates an eternal dreamlike atmosphere that reflects both spiritual calm and emotional depth. The poem unfolds as a conversation between Anashuya, a young priestess devoted to her religious duties, and Vijaya, her beloved companion. Yeats discerns complex themes such as love, jealousy, devotion, and the tension between spiritual discipline and human desire through their interaction.
At the beginning of the poem, Anashuya is seen kneeling in prayer, fulfilling her role as a priestess. Her prayer expresses concern for the welfare of the land. She says, “Send peace on all the lands and flickering corn.” However, her spiritual devotion soon reveals a deeply personal and emotional dimension. She continues, “When wandering in the forest, if he love / No other… And if he love another, / May panthers end him.” These lines reveal a striking duality within her character: while she prays for peace and harmony, she also expresses possessiveness and emotional intensity in her love. This contrast highlights the central conflict between her spiritual role and her human vulnerability.
The entrance of Vijaya introduces a lighter and more intimate tone, yet it also brings underlying tension. When Vijaya casually uses the name “Amrita,” Anashuya reacts with suspicion and unease, interpreting it as a sign that his affection may be divided. Although Vijaya explains that Amrita is his mother’s name, the incident foreshadows the jealousy that later emerges more forcefully.
As the poem progresses, it shifts into a lyrical mode enriched with songs and vivid imagery. Anashuya sings:
“A sad, sad thought went by me slowly…
Sing, O you little stars…
To mighty Brahma, he who made you many as the sands.”
Through these lines, Yeats connects personal emotion with the vastness of the cosmos, suggesting that human feelings are not isolated but part of a universal order governed by Brahma. This blending of the personal and the cosmic gives the poem a distinctly mystical quality.
The approach of evening deepens the poem’s mood. The imagery becomes softer and more reflective, as seen in the line, “The sun has laid his chin on the grey wood.” This gentle personification of the sun mirrors the quiet intimacy between Anashuya and Vijaya. Their relationship appears tender and affectionate, especially in playful moments, such as when Anashuya asks Vijaya to chase away a bird trying to eat her rice. These moments provide a glimpse of simple, human closeness amidst the larger emotional and philosophical concerns of the poem.
However, this calm atmosphere is soon disturbed. Vijaya reflects on the suffering of the wider world, describing scenes of cold, fire, and sorrow. In contrast, he observes that they “feel the softness of each other’s hand.” Rather than comforting Anashuya, this awareness intensifies her emotional insecurity. Overcome by jealousy and fear, she accuses Vijaya: “Ah me! you love another.” Her reaction is immediate and intense, revealing the depth of her emotional dependence and her fear of betrayal.
Although Vijaya reassures her that he once loved another but no longer does, Anashuya is not satisfied with mere words. She demands a solemn oath, asking him to swear by divine powers associated with the Himalayas. This moment underscores her need for certainty and her inability to reconcile love with doubt. Vijaya complies, affirming his loyalty.
Following this, Anashuya expresses her feelings once more through song:
“Shoot on him shafts of quietness…
And may kiss his hands to me in sleep.”
These lines suggest a love that seeks continuity beyond physical presence, blending emotional intimacy with a dreamlike, almost spiritual longing.
In the final scene, Vijaya departs, and Anashuya returns to her duties as a priestess. Her concluding prayer once again unites the spiritual and the personal: “O Brahma… and my love, Vijaya… give him dreams of me.” Even in her role as a devotee, her love remains central, revealing how deeply intertwined her spiritual and emotional lives have become.
In conclusion, the poem presents love as a complex and multifaceted force—tender yet possessive, spiritual yet deeply human. While it draws richly on Indian imagery and mythological references, there is no clear evidence that W. B. Yeats intended it to depict Sita or any specific episode from the Ramayana. Instead, the poem reflects Yeats’s imaginative engagement with India as a symbolic and spiritual landscape, through which he explores universal emotions of love, longing, and devotion.
Written and posted by Kamlesh Tripathi
Author, Poet, & Columnist
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A Love That Never Fades: Happy Mother’s Day
Kamlesh Tripathi
Writers across ages have tried to capture the essence of a mother’s love, yet words often fall short. As Rudyard Kipling once beautifully said, “God could not be everywhere, and therefore he made mothers.” And in a more tender reflection, Victor Hugo reminded, “A mother’s arms are made of tenderness, and children sleep soundly in them.”
There are some things in life that time cannot touch. Years may pass, seasons may change, entire lifetimes may unfold, yet a mother’s memory remains untouched. It does not fade, it does not blur. Instead, it deepens, growing more meaningful with every passing day.
Even in her absence, there is a quiet presence that never leaves. Though she may no longer be physically with us, something within us constantly keeps reminding us that she is still around us, and she cares in ways we may not always see but always feel.
A mother’s love is first experienced in the gentle rhythm of life itself. She lifts us to moments of joy that feel like cloud nine. She cradles us with warmth and affection, and shapes our world through stories, songs, and silent sacrifices. She teaches resilience, not always through words, but through her quiet strength. She shows us how to endure, how to grow, and most importantly, how to shine in this uncertain world.
Across cultures and ages, this timeless essence of motherhood finds reflection in mythology. In the Indian epic Mahabharata, Kunti stands as a symbol of quiet endurance and unwavering strength. Despite immense trials, she raised her sons with courage and wisdom, shaping them into men of character and destiny. Similarly, Yashoda from the Bhagavata Purana represents unconditional love in its purest form, nurturing the divine child Krishna not as a god, but simply as her own beloved son.
In the Ramayana, Kaushalya embodies grace and quiet dignity, while Sita, though remembered as a devoted wife, also reflects the strength, sacrifice, and nurturing spirit of a mother. Beyond Indian tradition, even in Greek mythology, Demeter personifies maternal love through her relentless search for her daughter Persephone, a love so profound that it changes the very rhythm of the seasons.
This sacred bond has also been beautifully captured in the English literature. In Sons and Lovers, the intense emotional connection between Paul Morel and his mother reveals how deeply a mother shapes her child’s inner world, sometimes becoming the very axis of his identity. Likewise, in Little Women, Marmee stands as a timeless figure of warmth, wisdom, and moral strength, guiding her daughters through life with patience and quiet dignity.
Motherhood is not confined to mythology or literature alone. It lives and breathes in the modern world, too. Figures like Mother Teresa transformed compassion into a universal form of motherhood. Countless unnamed mothers embody quiet heroism. Their love may not always be celebrated in books, yet it is deeply inscribed in the lives they shape.
A mother is more than a parent. She is our first friend. The one who understands even before we speak. A mentor who guides without seeking recognition. Life after her feels quieter, touched by an absence words cannot describe. Everything she taught becomes a part of who we are. While many things fade, a mother’s imprint never does. Many of life’s small joys seem dimmer when she’s not there. Her memories do not diminish; they multiply. They return like gentle waves, bringing comfort and reminding us that she is never truly lost.
A mother never fades. She continues to shine, not just in memory, but in the way we live, love, and move forward. She exists in every breath we take, in every step we make, and in every kindness we extend to the world.
And so, on this Mother’s Day, we don’t just remember her, we celebrate her. Not as someone who was, but as someone who still is, and always will be, beyond time, beyond absence, and beyond even our own days. In her, we find comfort, wisdom, and a sense of belonging that no other relationship can quite replicate. We may forget many things we learned in the world, but the essence of what she gave us stays unchanged, guiding our thoughts and actions long after she is gone. Closing with Vande Matram.
Written and posted by Kamlesh Tripathi
Author, Poet, & Columnist
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TWILIGHT TREMORS
Kamlesh Tripathi
Rita drew the curtains of her room while gazing at the setting sun sinking below the horizon, as if quietly closing a chapter of her own life. In that lingering gaze, she caught the first twinkling stars and the scattered lights amid the rolling hills of Shillong, once called the Scotland of the East, from her home in Laitumkhrah.
Twinkling lights…. perhaps, that was all that had remained, after she had decided to give Griffith a miss.
Today, Griffith was flying back to Melbourne from Guwahati. By now, he was likely airborne, cutting through clouds with pleasant memories. He had entered her life late, yet in that brief span, they had shared moments of rare warmth. At times, she wondered, was it a gift or a gentle disruption? Should she move forward with him, or retreat into the life she had carefully built?
A practising doctor and a lifelong bachelor, Griffith had come into her world when she had long accepted solitude. After her husband’s passing, Rita had lived alone, her children absorbed in their global careers. Yet Griffith’s presence had stirred something within her, making her feel alive again, almost defying the quiet onset of age.
He was attached to a clinic in Shillong, often visiting for missionary work, having seen life closely through service to the underprivileged. They had met at the library of the Shillong Club, united by their love for books. He had proposed, gently but sincerely. Rita, however, had chosen friendship, deep, meaningful, but contained.
Rita herself was shaped by books and music. A Loreto Shillong alumna, she carried literature not on her shelves but within her being. It guided her silences, her reflections, and her sudden flashes of understanding. Music softened the edges of her loneliness.
From Pride and Prejudice, she had learned discernment, the art of seeing beyond appearances, much like Elizabeth Bennet. The writings of Rainer Maria Rilke had taught her that solitude was not emptiness, but a sacred inward journey. William Shakespeare’s Hamlet lingered within her. It question, “To be or not to be”, echoing through her own dilemmas.
And then there was the quiet surrender of “Que será, será,” popularised by Doris Day… a gentle acceptance of life’s unpredictability. The haunting transformations of Franz Kafka unsettled her, while the fear of the unknown, echoed in The Exorcist, sometimes mirrored the tremors of the earth beneath Shillong.
Reading was not an escape. It was her way of becoming.
Yet, even with her disciplined life, her fitness routines, her careful financial independence, her writing for newspapers, there lingered a faint despondency. Her children, one in Bengaluru and the other in the UK, belonged to worlds far removed from hers.
Griffith had invited her to Australia for a long stay. She had prepared for it, even reached Guwahati airport, but at the final moment, something held her back. She returned home, choosing the familiarity of her inner world over the uncertainty of a deeper bond.
She explained her decision to Griffith later. She could offer friendship, but not a life intertwined. He understood. And life carried them in separate directions.
Days settled into months.
Rita returned to her rhythms: morning exercise, quiet writing, walks through Police Bazar, cups of hot tea against the Shillong chill, and occasional visits to the Ward Lake and Shillong Club. Books once again filled her hours, though now, at times, a thought of Griffith would slip quietly between the pages. The tragedy of Romeo and Juliet touched her, and the tenderness of Dr Zhivago softened her.
Six months passed in this gentle solitude.
One winter evening, as she sat with a cup of tea, the doorbell rang. Her maid had left for the day. She walked to the door and asked, “Who is it?” There was no reply. She hesitated, then opened it.
Griffith stood there.
In his hands was a bouquet of white roses, her favourite. A small placard read: “For Rita, my bestest friend”.
For a moment, she simply looked at him, as if unsure whether he belonged to memory or reality.
“How…?” she began.
He smiled, a little uncertainly this time. “Since you chose not to come to Melbourne, I thought I would come to Shillong. I’ve found work here. I’m… here, if you want me to be. We are both alone, Rita. Perhaps life is not about choosing between solitude and companionship, but finding a way to hold both.”
There was a pause, soft, unhurried.
The twilight outside had deepened, but something within her shifted, almost imperceptibly. For once, she did not search for meaning in a book, nor weigh her decision against borrowed wisdom.
She stepped aside.
And let him in.
Written and posted by Kamlesh Tripathi
Author, Poet, & Columnist
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https://kamleshsujata.wordpress.com
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Like it and Share it
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Shravan Charity Mission is an NGO that works for poor children suffering from life-threatening diseases, especially cancer. Our posts are meant for our readers, including children and adults, and have a huge variety of content. We also accept donations for our mission. Should you wish to donate to the cause of cancer? The bank details are given below:
NAME OF ACCOUNT: SHRAVAN CHARITY MISSION
Account no: 680510110004635 (BANK OF INDIA)
IFSC code: BKID0006805
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Happy to share my piece carried in The Goan Everyday on 26/4/26
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Enjoy the read.
The Economic Times 16/4/26
Shravan charity mission 