Thursday, November 26, 2009

Home They Brought Her Warrior Dead

The day India stood stupefied on an attack of immense proportion that it had not seen till date, a gross violation of its' self. This day, last year was when Mumbai was punctured.

There are so many people who give their lives for the sake of the country and there are so many who do not even know what hit them and perish. Unfortunately we remember the soldiers and their families only in times of crises (like Kargil). May all the souls of the people, including the unfortunately misguided perpetrators, who died then rest in peace, so that we have a better tomorrow..

The soldiers posted into a war zone wake up each day not knowing if that day would be their last. Their families suffer, day in and out and hoping that their beloved ones are safe. I bow to you, the soldier, who places their country above everything else including near and dear family for their supreme sacrifice in times of peace and also in war. [My brother went recently on a trip to the Himalayas driving around 3000+ kms across 2 weeks on his motorbike and he states that we better worship the jawans who live in extreme conditions and a terrain so difficult that we better quit cribbing about life in the cities]

The poem below from Tennyson drips of sorrow and is based on the family of a soldier, dead, and has a very silent and poignant feel to it. There are critics of this poem who state that this reinforces female stereotypes of living for husband and children, but I see it as a moving statement of the effects of war, orphaning the near and dear.

Here it is, from an English text-book of my school days,  now long forgotten.

Home They Brought Her Warrior Dead - Alfred Lord Tennyson

Home they brought her warrior dead:
She nor swooned, nor uttered cry:
All her maidens, watching, said,
'She must weep or she will die.'

Then they praised him, soft and low,
Called him worthy to be loved,
Truest friend and noblest foe;
Yet she neither spoke nor moved.

Stole a maiden from her place,
Lightly to the warrior stept,
Took the face-cloth from the face;
Yet she neither moved nor wept.

Rose a nurse of ninety years,
Set his child upon her knee—
Like summer tempest came her tears—
'Sweet my child, I live for thee.'


Swaram said...

Oh u r so rt! We have to be ever grateful to them for the peaceful life we live! God bless them all!

RamMmm said...

Yep. I have always wondered why we cannot do a compulsory draft of able citizens for short periods into Services in India. Gets you and the society disciplined and fighting fit.

Annam said...

hey ram hav an ward for u kalect it

RamMmm said...

nanri nanri, award kudukkaraennu sonnaththukku. eppdi award vaanguradhu?

gils said...

hey i remember reading this song in school...chaancela..kalakiteenga

RamMmm said...

@gils - :-) :-) andha kaalaththila idhellaam padiyO padinnu padichchOm. So sits there in some corner of the memory to recollect and to get the whole thing right, there is Google/Bing.

savitha said...

Such poignant a poem. moving!!

Srivats said...

Oh such a touching lyrics they are , I am reminded of a similar story where a child helps a man cry on his wife's funeral just by sitting on his lap.

Srivats said...

Kudos to your brother drove around Himalayas! A trip so memmorable I think :)

RamMmm said...

@savitha - sometimes this reminds me of Kurukshetra in the Mahabharatha during the 18 day war as each soldier falls in either camp. What an epic that one is?

@Srivats - Sad, but nice poem. My brother had a whale of a time going there, seeing from the photos itself. He shipped his bike to Delhi and then along with 4 other bikers, went to Kulu, Manali and then on to the roads that are seldom used by the tourist folks. Amazing experience was what he said. The landscape is breathtakingly desolate and beautiful and he went to the glaciers that start some of the mighty North Indian rivers on the highest motorable roads in the planet.