TRANSLATIONS

 

SRI AUROBINDO

 

Contents 

 

 

I. FROM SANSKRIT

   

 

 

 

BHAGAVAD GITA

 
 

Chapter One

 
 

Chapter Two

 
 

Chapter Three

 
 

Chapter Four

 
 

Chapter Five

 
 

Chapter Six

 

 

 

KALIDASA

 
 

The Birth of the War-God

 Canto One:

 
 

The Birth of the War-God, Canto Two

 
 

Malavica and the King

 
 

The Line of Raghu

 

 

 

 

Sankaracharya

 
 

Bhavani

 

 

 

 

III FROM TAMIL

 

 IV. FROM GREEK AND LATIN

 
 

The Kural

 

Odyssey

 
 

Nammalwar’s Hymn of the Golden Age

 

On A Satyr and Seeping Love

 
 

Love-Mad

 

A Rose of Women

 
 

Refuge

 

To Lesbia

 
 

To the Cuckoo

     
 

I Dreamed a Dream

     
 

Ye Others

     

 

 

 Mother India*

 

India, my India, where first human eyes awoke to heavenly light, All Asia's holy place of pilgrimage, great Motherland of might! World-mother, first giver to humankind of philosophy and sacred lore, Knowledge thou gav'st to man. God-love, works, art, religion's opened door.

 

India, my India, who dare call thee a thing for pity's grace today? Mother of wisdom, worship, works, nurse of the spirit's inward ray!


To thy race, 0 India, God himself once sang the Song of Songs divine, Upon thy dust Gouranga danced and drank God-love's mysterious wine, Here the Sannyasin Son of Kings lit up compassion's deathless sun, The youthful Yogin, Shankar. taught thy gospel: "I and He are one."


India, my India, who dare call thee a thing for pity's grace today? Mother of wisdom, worship, works, nurse of the spirit's inward ray!


Art thou not she, that India, where the Aryan Rishis chanted high

The Veda's deep and dateless hymns and are we not their progeny ? Armed with that great tradition we shall walk the earth with heads unbowed:

0 Mother, those who bear that glorious past may well be brave and proud.


India, my India, who dare call thee a thing for pity's grace today? Mother of wisdom, worship, works, nurse of the spirit's inward ray!

 

0 even with all that grandeur dwarfed or turned to bitter loss and maim, How shall we mourn who are thy children and can vaunt thy mighty name? Before us still there floats the ideal of those splendid days of gold:

A new world in our vision wakes. Love's India we shall rise to mould.

 

India, my India, who dare call thee a thing for pity's grace today? Mother of wisdom. Worship, works, nurse of the spirit's inward ray!

 

*Dwijendralal Roy

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