Summary:
The poem
"Disease" is a profound exploration of human suffering, the
inevitability of aging and illness, and the fleeting nature of worldly joys.
Through the narrative, it delves into the philosophical understanding of life,
relationships, and the human condition.
The poem begins with a
depiction of the prince, who is tired of the routine pleasures of palace life
and decides to venture into the forest. As he travels through the city, he is
greeted by adoring citizens, unaware of the deeper realities of life. On his
journey, he encounters a suffering, emaciated man by the roadside, who is
crying in pain. Shocked by this sight, the prince questions his charioteer
about the nature of disease.
The charioteer explains
that disease is a universal truth, a form of nature's retaliation, and a
consequence of one's actions and internal turmoil. He describes how even those
who are noble and gentle are not spared from the suffering caused by physical and
mental ailments. The charioteer further elaborates that disease is a
manifestation of the inner unrest and conflicts within the mind, a reflection
of one's karma.
The prince continues to
ponder the suffering he witnesses. He is struck by how people, despite knowing
the inevitability of disease and aging, live their lives in a state of
oblivion, engaged in their daily routines and pleasures. The charioteer replies
that humans are aware of these truths but accept them as an inescapable part of
life, bowing in resignation to the forces of time and nature.
Reflecting on this, the
prince concludes that life, filled with aging, disease, and suffering, is akin
to a dense forest of thorns. He sees human existence as a trapped bird, wounded
and struggling in a harsh world. He realizes that time, aging, and disease are
relentless forces, and humans, in their delusion, continue to see life as a
gift. The prince determines that the cycles of time and worldly attachment must
be broken and decides that a significant decision is needed to escape this
suffering.
In the end, the poem
conveys a sense of disillusionment with the material world and its transient
pleasures. The prince urges the charioteer to move on, away from the binding
suffering of this world, recognizing that true liberation lies beyond the entanglements
of earthly life.
The poem highlights that
suffering, in the form of disease, aging, and death, is an unavoidable part of
life.
It invites readers to
reflect on the nature of existence, relationships, and the ultimate reality of
human life.
The poem suggests that true
freedom and peace come from detachment from worldly attachments and
understanding the deeper truths of life.
It portrays how humans,
despite knowing the painful truths of life, continue to live in a state of
delusion, accepting suffering as an inescapable reality.
Overall,
"Disease" is a philosophical poem that compels readers to confront
the harsh realities of life and contemplate the deeper meanings of existence
and the path to true liberation.
The Poem
Comfort,
pleasure, smiles, joy—
These do not heal the mind.
The mind is not confined; it is boundless.
It has its unspoken, unwanted, unexpected dealings.
Daily routines—music, dance, splendor,
And the monotonous revelry in royal gardens—
These weary the young prince.
Today, he decides,
He will go to the forest.
The word spreads like wildfire.
The city streets and lanes,
Courtyards adorned with flowers, leaves, and arches.
City maidens and noblewomen,
Ornamented, holding flower trays in their hands.
The prince is coming.
The prince is coming.
One has a single anklet on one foot,
Another rushes with a single earring in one ear.
Tying chest bands, adjusting sashes—
They surge like a new, radiant wave,
A bejeweled rainbow in full bloom.
Every limb thrilled, an unbroken joy.
From the royal road,
Drawn by swift, spirited Sindhu horses,
So restless, so fleet.
Like a rain of flowers falling from the sky,
Along the path—children, elders, youth,
All endlessly praising
The beloved prince,
A beauty unmatched.
Countless Cupids would be humbled in his presence.
The prince saw,
Life outside was
So joyous, so vibrant.
The public road was full of life;
How simple, how pleasant life seemed.
He gazed around, sometimes moving, sometimes pausing.
Suddenly, his eyes fell
To the side of the royal road,
Under the shade of a dense tree—
Someone was lying there, suffering,
Clothed in soiled, ragged garments,
Groaning in deep agony.
Surprised to see him,
He questioned, "Gentle one!
This skeletal frame,
Breathing faint sighs,
So frail, writhing in pain—
Who is this?"
"O Prince,
This one,
Is weak, poor, utterly destitute."
"But why, gentle one, why?
Where are his kin, his friends, his loved ones?
Where are his relatives?"
Lord,
Relationships!
They are blind, my lord.
They hold no feeling,
No empathy,
No virtue, no generosity to discern.
Relationships,
Not with the person,
But with their own comforts—
A give-and-take exchange,
Such is their master.
There is no such thing as love.
Love!
Its grammar is peculiar—
The form of the seven cases, unparalleled.
It strikes with piercing force,
Along with specific times and circumstances.
One doer,
Reaping the fruits of his deeds in seven forms.
Love,
Is merely self-centered,
A synonym for self-satisfaction,
O Lord.
Affection,
A desperate cry of a wounded ego.
In this mire, where will it blossom—
Pure, untainted love, tested by austerity?
Its foundation is rooted deep
In the depths of selfishness.
No father, son, noble heart, or kin—
No husband, no wife.
Relationships and time—
All based on exchange.
Thus, even familiar eyes
Become utterly strange.
What more to say?
Here, this one, diseased—
Tormented by dreadful pain—
Not even a roof of paternal shelter
Is available to him.
All have abandoned him,
Left to the mercy of others.
This is his fate,
This is his destiny.
The prince grew anxious,
Beads of sweat formed on his brow.
His mind became distressed.
He asked, "Tell me,
What is this disease?"
Pulling the reins to slow the chariot,
The charioteer spoke,
"Master, do you not see?
The wretched state of the body—
Who hasn't been seized by this disease?
Disease—
The rage of the mind's inner chambers,
Manifesting as anger,
As nature’s retaliation.
A reflection of the surging tides
Of distorted mental states.
Even the nature of diseases
Arises from one's ingrained tendencies.
This is why, O soul,
One reaps the fruits of their own deeds.
Those who are calm, sensitive, humble, emotional, and
noble-minded,
Who have never spoken a harsh word to anyone,
Who see another’s pain within themselves,
And speak only of what they can endure themselves—
Their silent suffering
Also torments them.
High blood pressure, internal injuries,
The royal malady, heart disease—
They are consumed by these afflictions.
For those of different dispositions,
It begins first as an itch in the mind,
Then, like a skin disease,
They suffer from various other ailments.
Disease is merely a symbol,
A reaction upon the body."
The prince asked,
"Does everyone suffer from disease,
In some form or another,
Certainly, O noble one?
Even me?"
"No exceptions, my lord.
This is nature’s retribution,
A law of existence.
But nature, too, is not spared.
These mountains, ravines, roaring streams, sandy
forests—
These volcanic eruptions,
And the tumultuous, agitated seas—
They all suffer from their own bodily ailments.
The sky watches,
Through countless starry windows,
Bowing again and again.
Have these disturbances not calmed down?
Tears flow like streams,
And it, rejoicing,
Silently savors this stillness.
Lord!
One rejoices in another's sorrow;
This is the rule,
The way of the world.
As long as a person is strong
And prosperous,
There is love all around.
Otherwise,
Who belongs to whom?
A soul comes alone,
Writhes in pain,
And departs utterly alone.
All the colors of life's canvas fade away,
Leaving only a white shroud.
Only the sharp thorns of bitter memories
Are what one takes along.
As long as the strings of life's veena
Resonate harmoniously,
There is love.
But no melody emerges from discordant notes.
This abandoned person lying before you—
He has become
The dissonant note rejected by time."
The prince looked toward the public road,
Crowded with busy men and women,
All beings absorbed in themselves.
He asked again,
"Gentle one—
Do they not know
Of disease, of aging?
How are they so carefree, so joyful?
In the flow of time,
They fill their lives with delight.
How naturally free they seem."
The charioteer replied,
"Lord, this is the noble truth—
Inevitable and unchanging.
All are well aware of it—
The eternal truth.
Or, bowing to what must be, helpless,
They humbly offer their respect.
Who, with head held high,
Can watch the wild waves of the sea?
Before them, one bows low,
And surrenders.
Time is ever moving,
Whatever it gives, it gives.
Whatever flows from its hands—
However much, whatever form—
As long as it remains, it gives.
With joined hands,
Humans take it as a blessing,
Always humble, always bowed.
The day
A gust of time
Carries one away like a blade of grass,
Silent,
Who knows where it will go?"
The prince spoke,
"Gentle one!
Aging—
The embodied form of sorrow,
A dark pit of hopelessness.
Humans, mesmerized and helpless, remain drowning
within.
Disease!
Piercing the body and mind
Like countless thorns.
It reveals the dreadful outcomes of affection.
Time—
In the cup of life,
Drinks deeply from the nectar of existence.
Yet,
This tormented, humiliated captive life—
Humans still consider it a blessing.
The rings of time's world
Must be broken.
A decision must be made,
Indeed, it must be made.
Gentle one!
This is not a world—
It is a forest of thorns,
Where the bird of life, wounded and torn,
Wanders aimlessly.
Where does the nectar fall like rain?
Come, gentle one!
Do not stop here.
This suffering brings only
An excruciating bondage."
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