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Periscope:
Hear my song!
In that pleasant sunny morning master and disciple stood and waited.
They must have been there for a good while. The breeze was so gentle,
somewhat straitlaced.
"It's very cool out here, isn't it?" Master piped up.
"That's what I was wondering too. Despite the heavy sun."
"It reminds what an elder told me. Environment is the mirror of the
mind of those who live in it."
"So what is it to you?"
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Hiawatha |
"I think when they say that they have a point. Remember once we went
to a monastery? It was almost like this even though sun bearing down."
"Master I think I saw your friends coming this way."
Then master checked the position of sun rays.
"It should be them, if they are punctual."
They both could see an American and a native North Indian appear in
sight. They looked poles apart physically, but even so there was
something common between them. That seems to have stemmed from their
friendship that must have lasted for some time.
This familiarity look at first baffled the disciple. What is their
language - does the American speak in Indian's language or vice versa?
He was yet to know he wouldn't get a sufficient answer.
The American, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, said hello. Master and
disciple returned the courtesy. The native Indian bowed down his head,
yet it didn't give away his tribal inferiority - if there is any - at
all. He did it in his own way, with a trace of regalia. And then he
turned his back to the master and disciple to stare into the waters -
the glistening waters of ocean.
"So you managed to write 'The Song of Hiawatha'?"
Longfellow smiled.
"I wonder how you managed to study deep into their culture?" Master
asked.
"Have you read or heard criticism about my work?" Longfellow asked.
"They say although you are an American, your writing doesn't portray
the traditional American style. It is more of the Indian type."
"There you are. That's where I think I achieved my point."
"And they say you have violated the sources too." Disciple continued.
"I don't know whether it is wrong or not when you violate a source.
But still I think I would not have been happy unless I violated and went
beyond my American influence. In things like these, you have to undo
yourself." American said.
Then he paused a bit and observed the reactions of his pals. The
Indian, Hiawatha, was still staring into the waters thoughtfully.
Chipping in was the least thing he seemed to care about. He enjoyed the
waters more, master and disciple noted silently, something familiar for
Longfellow.
"Undoing yourself means, you have to forget about your surrounding
when you study another culture. Every culture has their indigenous
flavour. That's about it, whether you like it or not."
"And that's how you penned down the Hiawatha's song?"
"That's what I think I have done."
"Some critics say you have forgotten the poetry and applied too much
of Indianness?"
"I don't know where can you draw the line when it comes to poetry.
But it's true if they say I have applied too much of Indianness. Ok let
me ask this. If you don't become Indian, or any other culture whatever
it is, how can a song be natural?"
"There are so many folk stories. But why did you go particularly for
Hiawatha?"
"I don't think Hiawatha belongs to one clan. To me Hiawatha is the
traditional hero who emerges in any culture or tribe. He may be an
Indian, North Indian or any other part of this world. But he is the
prophet. He is the beacon for his own tribe. Every tribe gets someone
like that. They live with the common man, but stay aloof. I was
fascinated by realization."
"And you wrote it?"
"I wrote it, because I found them actually. Those heroes hardly
speak, and if they speak it will be the moment of solemnity. They have
their own song. I wanted to write that song."
Disciple couldn't help looking at the native Indian once again. He
doesn't seem to care about anything. There is a trace of massiveness
about him, not in physique but something massive - that is inexpressible
indeed.
He stood straight and was still looking at the waters. Do we have
that concentration to stare into waters for such a long time? He began
to rethink the words of the American: 'they live with the common man,
but stay aloof". Happiness engulfed him slowly, for he could decipher
the paradox of those very words.
And then Longfellow fished in a bundle of crumpled leaves, and
started to read them out aloud:
Bright above him shone the heavens,
Level spread the lake before him;
From its bosom leaped the sturgeon,
Sparkling, flashing in the sunshine;
On its margin the great forest
Stood reflected in the water,
Every tree-top had its shadow,
Motionless beneath the water.
These lines made the native Indian stir a little. Hiawatha uttered
something almost under his breath. Master and disciple knew what it
meant, as if by intuition. Hear my song, it meant.
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