Poetry : The Fierce and The Fragile

 

The Fierce and The  Fragile

( I write this poem  on the last day of April 26— April the month T.S. Eliot called the cruelest ,where memory and desire stir the dull roots with spring rain.)

I am Kali, the powerful, the furious,

The world turns to ash in my furnace of flames.

I control the cosmic, the Lord of all Breath,

I grant the life and I usher to death.

I’m a  passionate lover, fiery and red,

Only crimson blooms are the ones I accept.

How dare you stand where my shadows flare?

This place is not for you; do not dare.

The little white flower stood with a pearly spark,

From mountains where the frost leaves its mark.

A silent prayer-Did my petals unfold,

To grace the Goddess whose wisdom is gold

I  offered myself to the Goddess Divine

In temple of all mighty, where  peace  reigns

Are they different? it wondered, the Mother of  art

And the Mother of War with the blood-stained heart?

The flower had weathered the sun and the storm,

Waving gaily, keeping its fragile form.

Unbound by rules, it nodded its head;

Spreading a fragrance was all that it had.

While the world remained a roar of noise,

The quiet strength of its mild-toned voice

Was pushed to the edges, ignored and thinned,

Like a soft-spoken prayer lost to the wind.

"Mother," it whispered to the Fierce One,

"From your own spark, my life has begun.

I am white and petite, a delicate sight,

Grown in the shadows, reaching for light.

Why cast me away from your obsidian throne

For lacking the colours of fire or stone?

Accept me as I am, in this soft array,

Not as a blossom in fiery display,

But with a fragrance that wanders and clings,

Bringing the peace that the evening brings."

The flower grew tall: "If my plea is not done,

I will live, and I will shine, even without you."

Ma Saraswati stepped forth, radiant and calm,

Her white robes flowing like a stream’s divine charm

She swayed through the storm with a gentle grace,

And smiled at Ma Kali’s thundering face:

"I gave it the scent, the song, and the light,

To prove that the soft can survive the night.

Its roots are in wisdom, its heart is in peace—"

The Goddess  Kali paused, her dark brow cleared,

As the strength of the tiny bloom appeared.

A mysterious smile replaced her frown:

"Child, you are mine, even when alone.

My fire destroys what is hollow and proud,

But your quiet truth is a thunderous cloud.

In your defiance, my own power I see—

You do not need me, and so, you are Me."

The flower felt the world as a breaking storm,

But silence is a shelter that keeps the soul warm.

It wrapped that stillness around its own soul;

In the quiet of being, it finally felt whole.

No longer a victim of words cast aside,

It became the deep ocean beneath the white tide.

-Pankaj Mala Bhattacharya

Brahmavadini

 Brahmavadini

Jesus said :This is my commandment, that ye love one another

                                                                                                                         ( John 15:12)

(My thanks are  due to my friend  Dr. Soma Sammadar, Professor  of Chemistry, Lady Brabourne College,  Kolkata for providing valuable insights while writing this article. Soma herself a cancer survivor is relentlessly working for stray dogs through her NGO Doddaden foundation. She vaccinates, sterilizes and feeds about 100  stray dogs , furry babies as she calls them  ,  in North Kolkata.) 

A Brahmavadini  was a  female Vedic scholar, philosopher in ancient India who  by choice did not marry and dedicated her life to the pursuit of the ultimate knowledge. Brahmavadinis were highly educated intellectual ascetics who  by choice dedicated themselves to study Vedas, composed hymns, and lived independently.These female sages in ancient times demanded equal rights and positioning. Equal standing in Social structure or education. They demanded to be educated with male disciples.  The women who existed in India  centuries ago ,  the same leaders are amongst us and with us in a modern, urban way. It is not only in ancient  India  when Brahmavadinis like  Gargi and Maitri exited. They have been an integral part of our society always  - we may  have any name for them – but they are   independent women. They are modern day Brahmavadini.They can be anywhere, and we never realize. It’s their thoughts, their minds that define them.They are single by choice not by force, they are affectionate , caring  and fiercely  independent women with her strength and struggles. 

For the independent woman, the struggle to be loved is not a flaw in her heart, but a quiet melodious song of survival. It is the delicate  collision between the architecture of survival  build by her and the necessity of intimacy. When independence is born of necessity, it ceases to be merely a trait; it becomes an existential fortress. Her self-reliance is a  sanctuary where she is both the architect and the guard. In this space, her mind stays watchful, and the thought of being loved feels less like a soft landing and more like a tremor in the ground she worked so hard to stability.

Giving love is an externalization of self. It is safe, predictable, and firmly within the domain of control. Receiving, however, is a surrender of that control. It necessitates a radical vulnerability, requiring one to become an object of care rather than an agent of utility. For a woman who has learned that reliance is synonymous with risk, allowing another to "step in" feels less like an invitation and more like an exposure of a breach in the walls she has meticulously erected.

For the independent woman, self-reliance is a silver shield, forged in the fires of past disappointment to keep her heart from the winter of absence. She builds a life so complete and quiet that the storm of another’s inconsistency cannot reach her. Yet, this armor is heavy; while it keeps the cold away, it also blocks the gentle sunlight of a true presence. Her struggle is not that her heart is small, but that it has learned to be careful.

The transition from survival to intimacy requires a fundamental shift in perspective. It demands the recognition that the strength forged in solitude is not a permanent requirement for existence, but a foundation upon which to build a different kind of life. When an independent woman eventually lowers her guard, she does so not out of a void of need, but from a position of wholeness.

This creates a rare form of connection: a love that is not parasitic or transactional, but elective. It is the realization that while she has the capacity to sustain herself, she also has the agency to choose the shared warmth of another. When love is untethered from the desperation of need, it becomes a profound, intentional, and enduring partnership.

-Pankaj Mala Bhattacharya

Poetry : Adieu

 

Adieu

(Farewell)

The quintessence  of   argument

Was lost in the  cacophony of

Conflicting opinions 

The discord of words

Thundering  relentlessly

I waited, I fumbled

Then fell the word, 

with a sudden spark:

Adieu—to pierce the heavy dark.

Like a thunderbolt, 

it tore the sky,

A final, sharp, and cold goodbye.

But farewells I knew were nice and warm

I   had tried  relentlessly

For a careful negotiation with nature

My fragile pen represents 

Not just restoration

But a continuity

The sun began to dip

Softening every thing it touched

I stood on the ground 

The mud  beneath my feet

I understood this:

Resilience is rarely dramatic 

It looks like a sapling

Small unassuming

But  determined to stay

Quietly, noiselessly

In the world

Where cacophony rules.

                                                       - Pankaj Mala Bhattacharya

21.04.2026

Twin poems : A child's Dream and My Birthday

 Twin Poems 

 ( These little poems capture : the innocence of a child’s imagination while weaving in the darker undertones of fear and the quiet wonder of waking up to a new day, only to discover that it holds a deeper meaning ,your birthday. The rhythm is simple and conversational, almost like a nursery rhyme )

A Child’s Dream

Why this sudden fright,

arn’t you feeling all right?

just now you got off the bed,

child what makes you look so red?

Mother, I saw a dream

I was rolling down the stream

Beneath the groaning water

there was no sound or chatter

suddenly I felt  my arm was seized

Every drop of blood I had was squeezed

There was a noise o hark!

and then appeared jaws of a shark

I shouted, oh! mother save me

and that’s when you woke me.

My Birthday 

Today I was up early,

and as I peeped out

through the window

I saw that the day had dawned

The sun spread its mighty wings

and golden fingers in the sky

The soft dew drops touched the ground

It was a pleasant sensation all around

The flowers were in full bloom

The fragrance of lilies filled my room

Why what was so special about today

Little did I know that it was 

my birthday

   - Pankaj Mala Bhattacharya

Poetry - A tribute to the Heroes of Kargil (1999)

A Tribute to the Heroes of Kargil (1999)

( I penned these verses in 1999 during the height of the Kargil War. At the time, I was at the GSI Training Institute in Hyderabad. As the conflict escalated, a heavy silence fell over us; we spent our days studying the earth and our nights in silent prayer for the brave soldiers defending those unforgiving mountain peaks.)

When the entire nation rests

Peacefully in the warmth of bed

The soldiers stand on frozen heights,

Away  from home and family's light,

Beneath the cold and silent skies,

They  guard the Motherland.

In sub-zero winds and the breath of war,

Where darkness deepened every fear,

They  stood like a rock   on the frozen floor,

With the shadow of the enemy near.

No suffering known to mortal men,

Could break their  loyal spirit within ,

For the love of the Motherland.

To save the soil of their sacred land—

- Pankaj Mala Bhattacharya

Poetry: La rue

 

La rue

It was the street that time had sealed,

A  travelled  path,  I was  forbade  to tread

 As the tires hummed a low refrain,

 And the past drew near,

 as a  sudden tide,

I asked  to slow the pace,

To let one fleeting moment bide.

 Through the glass, a momentary  "peep,"

A jagged breath, a glance of old—

Then the road stretched out to pull me on,

And left the story’s end untold.

 

-Pankaj Mala Bhattacharya

03.04.2026

Poetry: From Tommorrow it will be in 2024

 

From Tommorow it will  in be 2024

From tomorrow, it will be in 2024,

A truth easier spoken than lived.

They ask me to roll back a year and a half,

In a world that races forward in haste,

Guided by AI, chasing speed.

 But I am no machine, no geared device,

To freeze my warmth beneath a world of ice.

When asked to rewind time itself?

The saints warn: attachments bring pain,

But did they ever say—return to the past?

Perhaps peace lingers there.

 Before the Goddess of the Wise I stand;

To her I brought my curated delight,

The little things I painted in the night.

Speaker, I am no machine.

A turn of the key cannot undo me.

Now they ask me to bury my emotions,

To silence my crafted experiences.

 Yet even buried, I will water them.

They will rise, bloom into flowers,

Breathing life into the waiting "OASIS".

green and still,

I bow to Him who set the stars to glow,

And with a steady heart, forward I go.

- Pankaj Mala Bhattacharya

01.04.2026