'विद्रोही' की तरह की कविता रच पाना हममें से किसी का भी सपना हो सकता है. वह एक ऐसा अद्भुत कवि है, जो जब हाथ पसारता है तो इतिहास और वर्तमान की दोनों दिशाएँ हस्तामलकवत लगती हैं. कहते हैं, कविता वही बड़ी होती है जो सभ्यता के मूल सवालों तक पहुँच जाए. इस कवि के उठाये सवाल 'सभ्यता की समीक्षा' करते हैं. जिस अन्तर्राष्ट्रीयतावाद की समाप्ति की दुन्दुभी बड़े जोर-शोर से ग्लोबल गाँव के देवता मना रहे हैं, वह विद्रोही के यहाँ अपनी पूरी ताकत से मौजूद है. न सिर्फ साम्राज्यवाद, बल्कि सामंतवाद की गहरी पड़ताल और तीखा प्रतिरोध इन कविताओं के केन्द्र में है. मिथकों का अद्भुत इस्तेमाल उनकी कविता को एक खास परम्परा बोध से जोड़ता है. विद्रोही इसके सहारे प्रतिरोध की परम्परा का नया आख्यान करते हैं. विद्रोही कविता पढ़ते नहीं, बतियाते हैं. उनसे कविता सुनना एक बेचैन कर देने वाला अनुभव होता रहा है. यह कविता दूसरी भाषा में पढ़ते हुए उस लय की याद आती रही.
मित्र आलोक ने विद्रोही जी की इस कविता का अंगरेजी तर्जुमा किया है. इलाहाबाद में छात्र-आंदोलन के दिनों की गहमागहमी के बाद अब जन संस्कृति मंच से संबद्ध हैं. बंबई में नौकरी करते हैं.
1.
O Nature! And
men!
This is Simon
here,
Standing in the
witness box
Calling you
To come and defend
me.
I speak from
The last step
of the pool of Mohenjodaro,
Lying
where
The burnt corpse
of a woman
and human bones
scattered in the
pool.
Such burnt corpses
of women
and scattered
human bones
you may find in
Bebelonia
as also in
Mesopotamia .
I think, and
think very often
Why the burnt corpse
of a woman
And scattered
human bones
Are always
found
On the
threshold of every ancient civilization,
from the rocky
civilization of Sythia
to the plains
of Bengal
and from the
woods of Sawana
To the forests
of Kanha.
2.
My foremothers
are crying
in the sky,
and I’m in
great anger,
as not only a
woman
but my mother,
my sister
my wife, my
daughter is killed every-time .
I would have
sacrificed my life
Near the burnt corpse
of the woman,
But for the
sake of my daughter
Who says,
‘Papa!Why are you so emotional for girls,
We, the girls,
are like wood-sticks
used in the
furnace
to maintain
fire
when grown up.’
Human bones
scattered here
could be that
of Roman slaves
or of the
wavers of Bengal
or of the
children
of modern
Vietnam, Palestine or Iraq.
An empire is,
an empire after all
What mattersif
it is Roman, British or American?
The only thing
that it does is
Scattering
human bones
On plains and
mountains
To the banks of
rivers
Near sea-shores,
and over plateaus
And yet it
claims
To have completed
History
With mere three
sentences -
That It flamed
the earth onfire
That it filled
the earth with fire
That it
scattered
Human bones on earth.
But
We, the scion
of Spartacus,
live with the
pledges of Spartacus
Go, and tell
the Senate
That we’ll
mobilize
Slaves of the
whole world
And come to Rome
someday,
certainly.
And
simultaneously
while I recite
this poem for you,
a Latin
American labourer
is digging the
grave
of the great
empire,
and an Indian
labourer
is putting
water into the wholes
of its pet
mice.
The fire of
disgust,
Spread from
Asia to Africa
Cannot be put
off, dear friend!
As this is the
fire
Of the corpse
of a burnt woman,
fire of the
scattered human bones.
3.
For the first
time
In history
A woman was
killed
By her son,
The son carried
it out
On the command of
his father,
When Jamdagni ordered
Parashuram
to kill her
mother
and following
his father
Parashuram oblized.
He welcomed
patriarchy.
Then, father killed
his sons.
Jahnavi
requested her husband
to drown her progeny
in herself
and Shantanu
did so
But he never appeased
Jahnavi ,
because
The King appeases
nobody
The money
appeases no one
religion is not
kind to anyone,
But they all placate
And work for
the King,
Be it the cow,
the Ganges, the Gita
Or Gayatri.
However, the
God
Continued
serving the King’s horse,
It was a virtuous
God,
Faithful to the
King,
But sorryI’m to
say
He is no more.
He died, many
years ago.
When God died,
King did not
give him even a coffin
Nor even two
yards for burial.
Nobody knows
about the place
Where the God
is lying buried.
But after all
He died,
Andhis death ?
a historical
incidentit was,
said the
historians.
Adding
something more to it,
historians also
opined
that king, his
queen and his son
remained no
more.
The king died
in a battle
The queen in
the kitchen
And the son in
his studies.
But the wealth
of the king
Remained, and
expanded increasingly.
But alas!
The only thing
again...
That burnt corpse
of a woman
and scattered
human bones
on the
threshold of each civilization.
4.
This body did
not burn itself
But was made to
burn,
These bones did
not scatter
on their own
but were
scattered
The fire did
not spread itself
but was blown
up
the battle did
not start itself
It was conspired
But remember
This poem
toohas not been written
Ithas made me
to write it,
And you know
very well
When a
revolutionary poem
Writes itself,
It sets
everything on fire.
Save me, o my
people
Rescue me from
this fire!
O my people of
the east!
Your beautiful
fields
Were ploughed
by swords
Your crops were
crushed
Under the
wheels of chariots.
O my people of
the west
Save me from
this fire
your women were
sold
in markets
and children
were fuelled in chimneys.
O people of the
north
Escape me from
this fire
(remember that)
your
forefathers were used
for cracking
mountains on their back.
O people of the
far south
escape me from
this fire
Your colonies
were burnt into ashes
Your boats were
drowned into deep waters.
I call you all,
Save me –
O my people
The slurry of
your blood
Was used to
build
Pyramids, buildings
and palaces
To save me
Would be to
save the woman
Whose corpse is
lying
on the last
step of the pond
at Mohenjodaro.
To save me
Would be to
save the men
Whose bones
Lay scattered in
the pond.
To save me
Would be to
save your forefathers.
To save me
Would be to
save your children.
You save me!
Your voice I am. 