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Famous Literary texts of the Subcontinent

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Nahid Kaiser:
Our subcontinent is rich in Literary creation. Here goes the brief introduction of some of the texts:
1.Meghduta :
A short poem of 111 stanzas, it is one of Kālidāsa's most famous works. It recounts how a yakṣa, a subject of King Kubera (the god of wealth), after being exiled for a year to Central India for neglecting his duties, convinces a passing cloud to take a message to his wife on Mount Kailāsa in the Himālaya mountains.[1] The yakṣa accomplishes this by describing the many beautiful sights the cloud will see on its northward course to the city of Alakā, where his wife awaits his return.
In Sanskrit literature, the poetic conceit used in the Meghaduta spawned the genre of sandesha kavya or messenger poems, most of which are modeled on the Meghaduta (and are often written in the Meghaduta's mandakranta metre). Examples include the Hamsa-sandesha, in which Rama asks a hamsa bird to carry a message to Sita, describing sights along the journey.
In 1813, the poem was first translated into English by Horace Hayman Wilson. Since then, it has been translated several times into various languages. As with the other major works of Sanskrit literature, the most famous traditional commentary on the poem is by Mallinātha.
Source: Wikipedia

shipra:
Congratulations,madam.You have chosen a very rich topic.Continue.I'm very interested.

Nahid Kaiser:
2.Bishad Shindhu (Bangla:বিষাদ-সিন্ধু)is a poetic novel about the history of prophet Muhammad's grand son Hasan, especially Husayn's assassination, and the war for the throne of Khalifa (the supreme power of Muslims). It was written by Mir Mosarraf Hussain, one of the first modern Muslim Bengali writers.

Bishad Shindhu was written within 1888 to 1890. It is one of the best known works of Bengali literature. But it is not considered an authentic source for the history of Karbala, the location of Husayn's war front, and the place of his death.

Bishad Shindhu is written in an epic style. It contains much poetic language, and many dramatic sessions. At the time, Bengali novels were rarely written, and a few writers (including Mosarraf Hussain) were trying to establish the concept of novels in Bangla. It was written in Shadhubhasha, a Sanskritised form of Bengali.

Many Bengali Muslims view the novel as a religious book, and in rural areas, it is the most valuable book after the Quran and the Hadith which is a collection of sayings and actions of Prophet Muhammad.
[edit] Main characters

    Hasan ibn Ali, elder brother of Husayn, grandson of Prophet Muhammad, son of Khalifa Ali ibn Abu Talib and Fatima Zahra.
    Husayn ibn Ali, younger brother of Hasan, grandson of Prophet Muhammad, son of Khalifa Ali and Fatema.
    Yajid, son of Muabia (a companion of the Islamic prophet Muḥammad ), rival of Hasan and Husayn, fighting for the throne.
    Shimar, Husayn's killer.

Nahid Kaiser:
3. Some Poems by Kamala Das:


The Rain

We left that old ungainly house
When my dog died there, after
The burial, after the rose
Flowered twice, pulling it by its
Roots and carting it with our books,
Clothes and chairs in a hurry.
We live in a new house now,
And, the roofs do not leak, but, when
It rains here, I see the rain drench
That empty house, I hear it fall
Where my puppy now lies,
Alone..
(From Only The Soul Knows How To Sing)

The Dance Of The Eunuchs

It was hot, so hot, before the eunuchs came
To dance, wide skirts going round and round, cymbals
Richly clashing, and anklets jingling, jingling
Jingling… Beneath the fiery gulmohur, with
Long braids flying, dark eyes flashing, they danced and
They dance, oh, they danced till they bled… There were green
Tattoos on their cheeks, jasmines in their hair, some
Were dark and some were almost fair. Their voices
Were harsh, their songs melancholy; they sang of
Lovers dying and or children left unborn….
Some beat their drums; others beat their sorry breasts
And wailed, and writhed in vacant ecstasy. They
Were thin in limbs and dry; like half-burnt logs from
Funeral pyres, a drought and a rottenness
Were in each of them. Even the crows were so
Silent on trees, and the children wide-eyed, still;
All were watching these poor creatures’ convulsions
The sky crackled then, thunder came, and lightning
And rain, a meagre rain that smelt of dust in
Attics and the urine of lizards and mice….
(From Summer in Calcutta)

Love
Until I found you,
I wrote verse, drew pictures,
And, went out with friends
For walks…
Now that I love you,
Curled like an old mongrel
My life lies, content,
In you….
(From Summer in Calcutta)

Winter
It smelt of new rains and of tender
Shoots of plants- and its warmth was the warmth
Of earth groping for roots… even my
Soul, I thought, must send its roots somewhere
And, I loved his body without shame,
On winter evenings as cold winds
Chuckled against the white window-panes.
(From Summer in Calcutta)
The Stone Age

Fond husband, ancient settler in the mind,
Old fat spider, weaving webs of bewilderment,
Be kind. You turn me into a bird of stone, a granite
Dove, you build round me a shabby room,
And stroke my pitted face absent-mindedly while
You read. With loud talk you bruise my pre-morning sleep,
You stick a finger into my dreaming eye. And
Yet, on daydreams, strong men cast their shadows, they sink
Like white suns in the swell of my Dravidian blood,
Secretly flow the drains beneath sacred cities.
When you leave, I drive my blue battered car
Along the bluer sea. I run up the forty
Noisy steps to knock at another’s door.
Though peep-holes, the neighbours watch,
they watch me come
And go like rain. Ask me, everybody, ask me
What he sees in me, ask me why he is called a lion,
A libertine, ask me why his hand sways like a hooded snake
Before it clasps my pubis. Ask me why like
A great tree, felled, he slumps against my breasts,
And sleeps. Ask me why life is short and love is
Shorter still, ask me what is bliss and what its price….
(From The Old Playhouse and Other Poems)

The Maggots

At sunset, on the river ban, Krishna
Loved her for the last time and left…
That night in her husband’s arms, Radha felt
So dead that he asked, What is wrong,
Do you mind my kisses, love? And she said,
No, not at all, but thought, What is
It to the corpse if the maggots nip?
(From The Descendants)

shipra:
 Dear Nahid Madam, before today, I didn't hear the name of Kamala Das.Now i feel happy to know about a new poet in our subcontinent.

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