Integration-Nature's Way

Integration- Nature’s Way

While political leaders, religious heads and individual men have been crying themselves hoarse on the subjects of National Integration and Human Brotherhood, to no avail, Nature has been quietly practising this exalted philosophy for time immemorial without any hue and cry. There are no banners, no cut-outs and no advertisements by Nature. There is no colossal waste of money conducting rallies, processions and TV serials in the world of Nature. All one has to do is to pause in the busy schedule of one’s daily life and OBSERVE! Nature is quietly practising integration and brotherhood instinctively, everyday and everywhere.
This silent feat of Nature was brought home to me on a fine day. Near my house there is a hoary, huge tree, commonly known as the “Flame of the Forest”. In late summer the tree flares up into a flame of orange-red flowers. Very few leaves are seen. From a distance the tree looks as if it has caught fire. Usually, after having finished the domestic work, I draw up a basket chair near the balcony and sit watching the busy traffic on the road-of buses, lorries, cars, bullock-carts, cycles and two-wheelers, a symbol of Man’s busy life.
On that particular day my attention was suddenly drawn to the tree by some activity which was as busy as the road traffic itself, but with a difference. While the vehicles went screeching and loudly honking the horns for permission to overtake, the activity at the tree was absolutely quiet, except for an occasional “Caw”! Yes, two crows were building a nest of sticks and dry leaves and twigs between two branches of the tree. They were totally engrossed in their construction, as engrossed as an architect in erecting his own, self-designed house. While the male crow brought sticks and twigs, the female arranged and rearranged them fussily, throwing down a stick here and a leaf there with great impatience. Suddenly she will change her mind, sweep down to the ground, pick up the discarded stick and insert it in to the nest with great precision.
The nest building was over in a month’s time. One afternoon I found the crow sitting in the nest for hours, now and then adjusting her position. Sometime one crow would relieve the sitting crow to go for a food and sit in her place. I realized that the eggs were laid and incubation had started.
One fine morning I had the chirping of the nestlings as I sat with a cup of steaming coffee in my favorite chair. Though I couldn’t see the baby bird I could see the open beaks, red as the flowers of the tree, ready to receive food from their parents. Watching the parents, tirelessly bringing food, from dawn to twilight eternally adjusting the twigs so that the fledglings may not fall off, hardly taking time to feed themselves, taught me a lesson in patience. I found myself often sitting and watching the family of crows.
I do not know how many days went by, when one day I saw one of the baby birds, sitting on a branch near the nest. She looked different from the father and the mother. The shape of the body was different and she had grey and white dots under her wings, had and tail. She was a not a crow, but a bird of different species. Gradually she left her nest and hopped from one branch to another. She had outgrown her nest, but unable to fly and fend for herself. Within a few days, another fledgling came out of the nest. Though she was similar to the first one, she was darker with yellow dots under her wings. She also was of different species. These two birds had become too big for the nest and so had moved out. But they didn’t wholly abandon the nest. Evenings found them huddling with the other inmates of the nest.
The next to leave the nest was a bird, quite different from the other two. She was jet black and shiny with the round head and a fan-tail. Her voice was raucous. Three birds occupied different branches of the tree. They would call out to their crow parents, demanding food. The lone youngster occupying the nest was too small to leave the nest. She contented herself in fanning her wings and looking at the other three with great admiration. I was wondering about the fourth bird in the nest. Was she also a bird of different species? Had the crow parents foolishly incubated eggs of other cleverer birds, who shirked their responsibilities of parenthood by laying their eggs in the unwary nest of crows? Were the crows aware of the difference in species?
Each of my questions was answered soon. In a week’s time the sole occupant of the nest came out to join the other three birds. I had a good look at her. She was a crow baby with great throat and black body. When her mother arrived with food, she uttered one single cry “Caw” to attract the attention of the mother. But the mother brought her food only after feeding the other three birds. So, out of the four fledglings only one was crow and the other three were birds of different species.
In a month time, after leaving the nest the birds had grown larger. The markings were different a well as the shape and size. The parent crows were obviously puzzled. The three fledglings who had left the nest earlier than the fourth were completely different. The sounds they made were also completely different from the “Caw” of the fourth one. While the baby crow returned to the security of the nest now and then, the other three remained on the branches and never returned to the nest. Even on a rainy day they sat huddled in the tree and never came back to the nest. But the crow baby sat in the nest, with her head buried in her wing feathers. Though the four birds had lived together in the same nest for more than a month, there was no communication between them.
The crow parents would sit on a branch at a distance and watch the three birds with heads tilted. They were quite conscious of the fact that the three birds were different from the fourth. They never watched the fourth for they were confident that the baby was theirs. When the mother brought the food, she would sweep down to the branch where the little crow would sit with open beak and feed her without any hesitation. Gradually the father crow grew indifferent and stopped feeding the three birds.
By now I was able to identify the other species. The first bird was grey and black with white and black dots. The local people call it as ‘ Onan Kothi’. The second one belongs to the species of ‘Kauvthari’, a black spotted bird. The third one was the ’Kuil’ , Cuckoo, black as midnight with red eyes and long fan-tail with an enchanting voice, a bird of inspiration for poets William Wordsworth to the Tamil poet Bharathi. Though the mother crow continued to feed the three birds she also losing interest in them. She fed her own baby more frequently and little crow followed her mother wherever she went.
On a fine morning, I sat in my favorite chair, waiting to see the family. The nest was empty. The tree was empty.
The family members had gone their separate ways to pursue their own ways of life as Nature had ordained. A lone black raven sat on the tree, stareing at the empty nest. Was he planning to raise a family in the same nest?
I felt a sense of shame within me for the whole of humanity. We, the so called ‘highest evolved species’ with the ‘SIXTH SENSE’ are selfish and have time only for what is ‘ours’ and ‘ours’ alone . But the comparatively the unevolved crow, looked down upon by man and derogatorily described as ‘scavenger’ proved better than man. Till the fledglings could fend for themselves though they knew full well that the three birds were not their own. The three were abandoned only when they flew away on their own to join their own species. Integration –Nature’s way will haunt me – forever.

The Poetic Love of The Poetess, Meenakshi

The Poetic Love of The Poetess, Meenakshi

I have known Meenakshi for nearly two decades. I remember the first time we met-though I hadn’t seen her earlier and she also hadn’t seen me-I was as familiar with her personality as I was with my own, because I had heard my husband mention her many, many times. He had known her for about five decades. They had been colleagues, friends and close companions in rebellion. Serving the cause of the society brought them still closer, into a relationship beyond the definitions and limitations of any particular brand. This relationship continues till today. From the time I had come into my husband’s life, we –my husband, Meenakshi and I-had formed a trio of a close bond that is difficult to explain and still more difficult for people understand .

I am an ardent admirer of Meenakshi’s poetry. Whenever we meet, which is very rare, we talk poetry and whenever we speak, which is often on the phone, I find that most of our conversation centre on her early poetry or a poem which had just then made itself known to her, as she sat holding the phone. She will immediately quote the lines to me and after the conversation of an hour or so only will she record it for posterity.
Her latest collection of poems, entitled “Udaya Nagarilirindu “, as usual contains gems of poetic scholarship. In this collection, to my great pleasure, I find a new Meenakshi emerging after all these years of writing poetry. Her tender love for nature, motherly love for all the children she meets not only in Auroville but all over the world, wherever she travels, her reverence for the culture and tradition of Tamilnadu and her respect for the people of the other nations she visits frequently are all revealed in her poem, forming the themes of her poetic collections.
But one of the poems in the present collection reveals a new dimension of Meenakshi, a woman! All these years, her poems have been illustrative of her Universal Brotherhood (that’s why she is in Auroville ), her devotion to God and to The Mother and Sri Aurobindo. From an Aurovillean this is nothing strange. But this poem I want to explore further is no great revelation but just a tiny glimpse of a woman who has awakened to the charms of Cupid! Yes, this poem I am talking about is a poem about’ A Woman in Love!’
If she were an ordinary woman, I could have called her on the phone and teased her and delighted at the thought of her blush and a shy smile. But she is a woman extraordinary- a poetess of renown. The thought itself is blasphemous, as if I were teasing Meera over her love for Lord Panduranga. The mere thought shocked me and I felt that I would rather put down my reaction to her love poems in writing than call her and talk to her.
The poem entitled, ‘Idhamaana Thunaivarai Enni’ is a classical epic of love in just twenty five short lines. Though it is a simple love poem, how profoundly beautiful it is ! In the moment of the wife’s acute suffering, she has become his friend, who all these years had been a dutiful South Indian wife and intellectual companion. Many wives complain that all their services as a wife to the husband go unnoticed and unpraised. But Meenakshi’s love-epic husband in just two lines, “You are responsible for the strength of this shoulder; lean on it” quenches the thirst of eons of the Hindu wife’s thirst for recognition. Meenakshi aptly describes the tenderness of man’s love as woman’s golden shield which will protect her from any trials and tribulations of Life. She concludes the epic with breath-catching fervour-“At any age it is Divine Secret that keeps the lovers ever young.” These are lines which stir in one “ thoughts that lie too deep for tears.” These lines, the concluding lines of this wonderful poem brings to mind Keatsian ‘Ode on a Grecian Urn’, where Art has captured youthful love and made it immortal. The whole panrama of marital love has been captured in just two concluding lines of this poem:
At any age it is a divine secret
We will live on as young as ever
True marital love of a husband and wife keeps them as young as the time they were a newly married couple. This is the secret of remaining ever young. Meens seems to have drunk at the fountain of marital love and this drink will keep her and her husband young for ever. An exotic thought that delights me is that she has found a husband in whose understanding love she will remain ever young, as I do from my marital happiness with an understanding and loving husband.

This love poem is followed by another love poem “Nee” (You). She has seen a photograph of his and for ever she keeps it framed in her heart. He is like a river with white foamy waves, like the snow-capped tip of the mountains and the white froth of milk. Physically and mentally he is as quick as the squirrel. He is tumultuous like the flood water and is a fast. But this flood turns into a life-giving sedate river beside the poetess, quietening the boiling emotions, and bringing tears of tenderness into the eyes which had hitherto been just dreaming of such love. She look into the face again. He is like the flowing stream from the hill, white and pure.
Can anyone ever doubt if this is love poem. The repetition of the colour white again and again clearly shows that Meenkshi is referring to her foreigner husband Mr.Toine. The grandeur, the majesty and the purity of the river flowing from the mountains, sweeping away all else except love appears to be wonderful. Let us all, the readers of these two love poems, rejoice with Meena. Finding such all-pervading love in a marriage is a Divine Blessing, for are not marriages made in Heaven ?
I am furnishing below the English translation of these two Love Poems of Meenakshi:

Thinking of the Warm Life-Partner
(Idhamaana Thunaivarai Enni)
My Love,
I remember
Even when you are not here
What you said to me.
“My Darling
Do not weep
Do not allow your wounds
To become fresh.
With your wounds
You appear as the real YOU
Even your wounds are yours
With those wounds my love for you
Grows more intense
Your medicine and
Your food
Today I’ll feed you
With my own hand, My FRIEND

These are the shoulders strengthened by you
Lean on them”.
So saying you kissed my forehead
With your eyes.
This Masculine tenderness
Becomes my feminine golden shield
At any age it is a Divine Secret!
Let us remain ever young like this…

You (Nee)
I saw your face in a picture
I’ve pasted it in my heart
YOU
Were like the river
Waves and waves of white
You were like the reachable
Ice-capped Mountain tops
Like the froth on milk, White.

Internally, Externally
You had the agility
Of the squirrel.

Flood,
Rushing,
You
Quietened the boiling emotions
Cooled the heat
You were the Living waters
Bringing tears to my eyes
I looked at your face again
You were White
Like the flowing river, child of the
Mother –Mountain.

The Strange Psychology of a Stray Dog

He was the most abused , most ignored ,most ill-fed and most cowardly stray dog I had ever seen .A brown and white small dog, with a beautifully curled white tail and a pair of warm brown eyes-neither ugly nor good looking but pathetic looking with a haunted expression on his face- I didn’t know whether he deserved to be called by some name, any name .But I who had brought up all types of dogs , all pedigree dogs with papers of merit showman-ship to whom I had given such exotic names as Juno, Rex, Jupiter, Quixote, Daffodil, Poppy and Tulip or so-so names like Blackie, Brownie, Dolly, Tommy and Wooly, was lost for a name for the first time. This stray dog had such a strange expression and such a strange personality that I wondered what name would describe him best when I talked about him to others.


Days went by in this state of suspended animation. The dog remained without a name. One October Saturday, I was looking through the window and found this dog lying with his leg crossed, ears erect, looking up at the sky, with a bored expression on his face. One female dog was surrounded by nearly ten to eleven dogs – dogs of different shapes, sizes, colors and breeds. They were fighting, snarling and biting each other in a frenzy to win her favour. It was a mad scene. But this small dog was lying quietly with disdain and contempt written largely on his face conveying the message “These dogs are fighting for a pleasure which is transitory – a pleasure which I disdain and reject – how noisy and quarrelsome these dogs are – do they not realize that dogs are made for better things in life?” Immediately I named him Stoic, because the Oxford Dictionary defines a Stoic as a person to whom pleasure and pain are the same.Stoic became an important personality in my life. Every time I saw him, I would double with laughter, at the placid expression on his face.

His behavior was quite funny. Whenever he walked the street, he would look this way and that way to see if the coast was clear. If he found a male dog coming, he would avoid him and hide in the nearby wild bushes. One can see only a pair of terrified brown eyes and the tip of a trembling tail. Even the straight ears would be folded back so that no dog would find his hide out. After the dog had gone away to a safe distance, he would come out from his hiding place as if it was not he who was hiding there but it was the place that had hidden him against his wishes! With his hind legs he would throw mud on the hiding place, and walk away jauntily in the opposite direction!

Twilight time found him trembling with fear for his dear life. Every shadow became a potential threat and the rustle of leaves a horrendous war that drove him to frenzied barking. Even the mewing of a cat made him cover his eyes with trembling forepaws and whimper with terror. Cyclists became giants on giant wheels and when he saw one, he would run for his life howling. This howling brought him more misery .Fearing that a howling dog is a harbinger of death, people would throw stones at him, so that he would stop this blood-chilling sound. This made him still more miserable. He would retire for the night without a sound. How miserable he must have been the whole night, one can well imagine. Next morning Stoic would be back, walking slowly looking for a place to hide, if a dog came opposite him.
It was the month of May. My son was convalescing from a serious illness.ost of the time he was in pain. But the doctor insisted that he must do exercise. So he would take short walks upstairs. When he climbed the stairs to go up, my son’s face would be etched with lines of pain and unhappiness. But when he came down after an hour, his face would be relaxed, all lines of suffering erased, with a smile that told me that life is not as bitter as it appeared to be. I asked him what caused this change. He showed me Stoic who was furiously barking at a lone dry leaf on a tree, which went on spinning before falling off the tree. My son said that Stoic and his cowardice tickled him so much that he forgot the pain. If such a tiny mongrel could survive in this huge, threatening world why not a young man of twenty-five, face his pain with courage and recover fast? I felt hot tears pricking my eyes. What all our prayers, our tender care, doctor’s careful treatment and the solicitation of his friends did not achieve, a small, cowardly stray dog had achieved. Stoic had caused a renewal of hope and happiness in my despondent son! My husband and I became ardent fans of Stoic. Even to-day, after two years, whenever our son rings us up from Chennai, his first question is “How is Stoic “? Our son has wholly recovered and though people might say that I am a foolish woman, I still believe it is because of Stoic, my son recovered faster.

We adopted Stoic as a member of our family. Of course, we are not sure if he is aware of his exalted status.But unconsciously, without knowing why, he underwent a tremendous change .Gradually he has become more confident, more courageous and more of a regular dog. His frequent visits to our house, to eat a tasty cream biscuit one-day and drink hot milk another day and then have a quiet nap on the doorstep with a full-stomach with no nightmares to keep him awake ,have transformed him in to a handsome fellow. He has gained weight; the hair, which had been torn off by his cruel enemies, has grown back. Battle scars, which had been shameful reminder of his cowardice, are all hidden now. Now he never folds back his ears, but walks the road with eyes shining with the light of battle and a permanent growl in his throat.


The other day I was sitting and watching life go by.I saw two dogs slinking away with their tails between their legs, trembling, afraid even to run. I was curious to know what made them behave like that .In a few seconds, I found Stoic walking behind them, majestically and at the same time menacingly. I was reminded of the time when he himself had been as cowardly as they were now. What is the strange psychology of this stray dog?


Stoic had been a stray dog, starving for love and care. Though he had never starved physically for food, he had been starving psychologically for love. Now that he had been offered unconditional love by us, he has changed. Love has changed him from a stray dog to a pet dog. If a stray dog could be transformed by so much of love, how much more would human beings change if love is given,unconditionally. At this time when Mother Earth is agitated with natural calamities and man-made disasters, let us think of the healing power of love. Love is a wonderful gift of God given to man, to give and to take.

Prof.MeenaDorai