Mystery
Many years ago, I had gone to Pakistan for a poets’ conference.
They call it a “Shaayari Majlis” there.
The behavior of the Pakistanis, their warmth, the depth of their poetry—
again and again, it left me in awe!
Their wounded hearts expressed in lofty words
left me speechless—
they couldn’t hide their deep love for India,
nor their intense sense of grievance...
How is it that among such devout, deeply sensitive people,
terrorists and murderers are born—
that mystery, even today, I haven’t been able to unravel!
Many years ago, I had gone to Bangladesh for a poets’ conference.
The kindness, warmth, and love for poetry of the Bangladeshis
captivated me!
Their joyous hearts voiced vibrant expressions
that thrilled my soul.
Their deep love for Bangladesh,
and the earnest yearning to become like India,
startled me...
How did these open-minded people of Bangladesh
turn into violent communalists and India-haters?
That mystery, too, I haven’t been able to understand even now!
Many years ago, I had attended a rural poetry conference
in Murshidabad, a Muslim-majority region of India.
The behavior of Indian Bengali Muslims—
their hospitality, sincerity, and reverence for poetry—
enchanted me!
Their noble hearts poured out such graceful expressions
that my chest swelled with pride.
Out of love for the poets, the village audience
did not rise from their seats even for a moment!
How did those same noble souls
turn so violent—
that mystery, too, I have not yet been able to solve!
Perhaps I never will be able to solve this mystery...
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