I stood by the unmalicious stream
Of Zanskar and in its tranquil movement
Saw the hidden image of Mahākāla,—
It hastening through the valley. Goodness
Of its thought had given to those serene
Ranges snow-white stillness, to the tall stars
Recounting the parables of loud night
A glimmer to burn in its quiet heart,
To the dreams faith comprehensive of sleep
Breaking into calm wisdom. However,
The summer’s crystalline flow had lingered
Through the long ages to take stock of things
Trapped in the coarseness of enduring past,
As if emptiness in its spirit’s search
Found a place to live on top of the world.
Underneath the unperceived silences
Mahākāla smiled;
above the peaks touching
The blue of the firm sky Mahākāla sat;
Beyond, into absoluteness of peace,
Mahākāla disappeared. He had reached
The void into which all created things
Withdraw, into himself. To him prayers
I offer, at the dawn, when it is noon,
At the dusk, in the sombre hour of death,
Until goes out of sight a thousand joys
And heard is no more the gong. Loftiness
Of those mountains yet difficult to climb
In the paces of time also becomes
A luminous nothing. To be again
Just me I need no Dharma, I need
No
Of Mahākāla, and only the non-self
Remains as the contentless sovereign.
But, then, unendingly in a strange act
When the form is dissolved, and all the sounds
Vanish in the valley’s hush, runs Zanskar.
RY Deshpande
20 July 2004
Mahākāla: Nagpo Chenpo
Zanskar:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-ysFLwFBkEk
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sdkCMqqrlww
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TitAII88YgM