Considering Rukmini

(On reading R. C, Dere’s ‘Vitthal of Pandharpur’)

I

Krishna went to seek Rukmini,

hiding in the tamarind grove.

He left far-off Dwarka

and sailed the broad black water,

for where his queen abides,

He must be.

Beside the Bhim in Pandharpur,

Rukmai sulked in termite mound.

Krishna became a tamarind tree,

giving shade to his beloved.

His devotees found their lord:

‘This is Krishna, though he is changed.

He stands silent, hands-on-his-hips.

He wields no weapon, our Vithoba.’

They built a shrine, Vitthal’s fame spread:

Panduranga, the colour of dust,

the monsoon cloud, arms akimbo,

short, squat, silent, standing on the brick.

II

In Pandharpur, Vitthal stands alone,

but he is happy: Rukmini

is in his heart. She is the earth,

and so he covers himself with dust.

With the white dust of Maharashtra

he covers himself: we say

‘Pandarang, Pandarang’,

but we don’t know what we say.

Vitthal needs no weapons: he is beyond.

He governs the Virat,

the land of the twice born.

Rukmini is the Virat itself:

Vishnumaya Viratangana

III

In far off Dwarka, Rukmini reigns:

a land of silences, evergreen

forests, fields of ice, dark rounded

hills, sky piercing mountains, broad

rolling prairies guarded round

by cold salt seas and great lakes

of sweet, sweet water.

But here they do not worship Her,

except for those who take as God

their vast unpopulated lands,

and those are few, but few enough.

In dusty, holy Pandharpur,

across the dry Deccan shield,

the pilgrims flock like goats to graze

but even here they eat false food:

too much movement, too great a din,

that few can find their Lord Vitthal.

He’s in the shrine, not in their hearts.

IV

I will seek the tamarind grove,

find the tree that is Pandurang,

sit and worship in its shade,

with flowers and water, my desire,

the termite mound where deep, deep down,

in the earth itself, resides Rukmai.

I will descend to Her;

She will rise to me.

And She will give comfort and counsel

and my soul’s redemption.