Whole Dude – Whole Concept

The Wave Theory of Immortality

Language is one of the principal characteristics of the specifically Human World. Human Speech, both spoken and written is the criteria by which we can recognize the difference that exists between Human species and other species. Language is the means by which human beings communicate as members of a social group and as participants in its Culture. Language is the peculiar possession of human beings. No other species has conventionalized its cries and utterances to constitute a systematic symbolism in the same manner  as human Language. Human species may be described as the talking and writing animal.

Aristotle says that man is the only animal whom nature “has endowed with the gift of speech.” The origin of human Speech cannot be explained in evolutionary terms. Human Speech is a creative phenomenon and it uses a creative mechanism to generate variations while the humans are endowed with the same kind of gift. Human Language is the instrument by which the thoughts of men’s minds are conveyed from one to another. Language expresses thought, diverse languages are different mediums of the same thing. Aristotle declares, “All men may not have the same speech sounds, but the mental experiences which these directly symbolize, are the same for all.” The human community when conceived in terms of the communication of thought is not limited by political boundaries. Man overcomes the barriers set up by a diversity of tongues by using a tool called translation.

Human Language has the Spiritual attribute called Immortality for it includes the thoughts shared by the living and the dead and extends to those as yet unborn. Human Civilization can be described as the Civilization of Dialogue and the conversation continues from one generation to the next as if man is not a perishable creature. Plato observes, “thought and speech are the same, with this exception, that which is called thought is the unuttered conversation of the Soul with itself.”

Immortality is the Spiritual Dimension of Human Language

The word “Tarangini” means a flowing river or stream. The act of flowing gives the water a life of its own. The river or stream is alive as long as the water is flowing. Man is confronted by the problems of aging and health. It is the thoughts and deeds of the man that survive which gives us a hope that human life could get over the limitations imposed by mortality. Tarangini conveys the thoughts that are expressed by my father, Shri. Rebbapragada Suryanarayana Murthy and I am happy to share his thoughts with others.

In the fluidity of this Flowing Stream, I express a sense of hope for humanity and its quest for immortality.

TARANGINI

Poems by Rebbapragada Suryanarayana Murty

The Divine Garb

I see a divine garb hanging round my body

In the early morning hours when I still feel bodily pains

And warding off all attempts to bring to an end

Night’s dreamy splendor

I see the crimson colours of the divine garb

Absorbing the cooling effect of the early morning rays

The garb giving me the feel

That I am something very special

The divine garb is not like the one

Faked by rogue weavers

To make a gullible king walk half naked in the streets

The garment is indeed woven as a web

Where threads are smeared with thoughts pure and holy

To give them a dazzle and sheen

I get up not knowing what to do

Is the garment meant to convey a message

That I should play the role of a missionary

To make the man in the street learn his relationship with almighty

Though devoted should I know I am hardly fitted to play such a role

My inadequacies are too many and too glaring

To dare and challenge those already in the field

Is the garment meant to wake up in me thoughts lying dormant

Like particles floating in the rays of the morning sun

To enable me to join the ranks of knowledgeable souls

Whose message conveyed through word and print

Makes them unrivaled in the filed of poetry or art

Here again I feel humbled

As the gumption that produced those wizards

Whose classics enthralled humanity over the centuries

Is not what I can lay claim to with confidence

I pick up a few granites of hard history

Which is all I could gather after digging over the years into realms of past

Though the effort is not much I can see the road ahead

I have an understanding how the world is what it is today

The chronicles are there for anybody to read

To understand the myriad efforts put forth by man to achieve progress

I find the divine garb is sent with a mission

To give cheer and hope to an agonized soul

Perplexed with dismay and despair

Facing the trauma of a life besieged with problems of aging and health

Its message is not to waver but put forth best effort

In the service of a man even in a limited way

As the last days could also be best days at times

The mind cast in a mould of peace and content,

And God remains sheet-anchor in thought and deed.

The Language of the Heart

The language of the heart is a language rarely heard

It originates from the inner recesses of the body

From a point nearer to the heart

In the passionate love between a lover and his beloved

Sanctified by the sacerdotal string tied during matrimony round the bridal neck

It is the language marked by deep emotional fervor

Spoken in whispers of do once sweet

Providing the bells to their daily chores

Help the boat sail through calm or perilous waters

Bind the souls together with hoops of steel

It is also the language of truth, of sound reasoning

Making their thought transparent as in a mirror.

The language of the heart gets added strength

With new colours added like the flowers blossoming during spring

When the family base gets widened

The birth of a child, bursting flood banks of love,

Gives the language a new worth and greater depth

The total innocence of the child and its shining face providing the rich tapestry

To sing the song to lull the child to sleep

Or stop it from crying

Its twitters providing a stream of endless joy.

The language of the heart gets further enriched

With the child growing in age

With new vocabulary added to give strategic strength

To build a canopy, to help the child grow in freedom and joy

To ward off evil forces

The child deeply aware of the flow of love around

Storing in the subconscious

Scenes of the enchanting days

Memories which will never fade

And help to serve as bedrock

To melt life’s myriad troubles.

The language of the heart gets bogged

Its frontiers getting pierced with the teacher entering the scene

Laying emphasis on acquiring skills and smartness of usage

Adding richly to the child’s mental kit

Helping him to acquire a new appearance the adolescent youth

With a buoyancy of spirit, rugged and wild,

To start a new carrer

To seek a partner in life, in happy wedlock

To live in a dream world of their own

The heart establishes its regime again

Making full use of the strength extended by the mind.

October 05, 2000. Hyderabad -7

Rule of Law – My Spiritual Quest

I have a rule of law for myself

I need no external aid for this regime of mine

Its strength lies in its vast assets

Built up over the years

Based on internal purity of the mind

Of body too as both are linked in many ways

Body of taking orders from the mind

Mind like the protecting angel to steer the body

Through eddies and whirlpools but always into the harbor

But at times mind fails to provide the signal

Gets bogged with conflicting thoughts

Like the ocean when churned by the Devas and Asuras

Emnating poisonous fumes

Body in deep agony and forlorn

Dwells deep into the inner recesses

And to a thud, deep and sonorous in tone its source scarcely visible

Could it be the inner voice, the voice of conscience,

Its message clear like the Commandments of yore,

All doubts get doused, all illusions vanish,

A new regime is launched, a new pathway found,

Mind becomes the Conqueror, a Mahavira,

Its enemies driven in all directions

While body becomes the Kingdom, where peace reigns eternal.

A Tribute to Sathya Kidney Centre -The Modern Medicine Man

In the world of disease, where billions are prey to myriad troubles,

Giving them sleepless nights,

When anxiety and worry about the dawn of the morrow

Keeps persons in high tension and low spirits

The presence of a doctor by the bedside

Could be the greatest of boons.

Not for nothing the medicine man was glorified by the early tribes

He is nicknamed sorcerer by modern pundits

But could be truly a scientist with an all-embracing role

Using his medical knowledge for political gain

While compelling death to take a glance and pass by

Instead of pouncing on his patients with its piercing claws.

In ancient Taxila a student searches and searches in vain

To find one plant or herb not useful for man

In the vast herbal garden adjacent to his school

Is it an insignia of acquisition of highest knowledge?

Or is it the starting point of research?

As no visible sign there is to set a limit to the horizons of knowledge

Which seem to recede further and further

The more the knowledge is acquired.

In Mahabharata a tribal chief,

Practising the highest arts in life saving game

Befools Takshaka, the serpent king,

By bringing back to life a tree

Reduced into cinder by its venomous fangs

A miracle indeed but medical science presents many such miracles

What more classic example can one have

Or ancient India’s pristine effort

To practice the art of healing for the needy and the suffering.

The great Asoka built many a hospital for man and beast

To restore life and give it a fresh lease

A time when sciences and arts mingled in harmony

To make life less miserable to man.

In the Sathya Kidney Centre I see

Something of the glow of the golden past

A medical team wedded to service

Practicing the latest arts in medical surgery

Headed by a chief with skillful fingers

Piercing the interior of the body, the invisible and the unseen,

Unearthing the devil inside

Scorching it to see it will never raise its head again

I see here human effort at its best to serve humanity

Let Sathya Centre thrive

And be a beacon for the country and the world.

Note: Poem composed after the author underwent surgery for prostate gland enlargement at Sathya Kidney Centre, Himayatnagar, Hyderabad, India on October 09, 1999.

The Medicine Man: A Forerunner

In the world of disease, where millions are prey to myriad troubles,

Giving them sleepless nights,

When anxiety and worry about the dawn of the morrow

Keeps persons in high tension and low spirits

The presence of a doctor by the bedside

Could be the greatest of boons.

Not for nothing the medicine man was glorified by the early tribes

He is nicknamed sorcerer by modern pundits

But could be truly a scientist with an all-embracing role,

Using his medical knowledge for political gain

While compelling death to take a glance and pass by

Instead of pouncing on his patients with its piercing claws.

In ancient Taxila a student searches and searches in vain

To find one plant or herb not useful for man

In the vast herbal garden adjacent to his school

Is it an insignia of acquisition of highest knowledge?

Or is it the starting point of research?

As no visible sign there is to set a limit to the horizons of knowledge

Which seems to recede further and further

The more the knowledge is acquired.

In Mahabharata a tribal Chief,

Practising the highest arts in life saving game

Befools Takshaka, the serpent King,

By bringing back to life a tree

Reduced into cinder by its venomous fangs

A miracle indeed but medical science presents many such miracles

What more classic example one can have

Of ancient India’s pristine effort

To practice the Art of Healing for the needy and the suffering.

The great Asoka built many a hospital for man and beast

To restore life or give it a fresh lease

A time when science and arts mingled in harmony

To make life less miserable to man.

The Medicine Man and those that trod in his footsteps

Were the forerunners to study in depth,

The functioning of the body system,

To identify a disease, to provide the healing touch

Using their powers of intuition and invention;

But using medicine to instigate crime they abhor

Aerial spraying of bacterial venom

Soaking environment with chemical fumes spilling death

Drug addiction and its abuse

Would be an anathema to their primitive mind;

Let the medical system, with its vast domain and modern garb,

A Pasteur, a Fleming, an Yellapragada of Lederle fame,

And a host of kindred souls,

Help usher a New Millennium

Where  disease is banished or finds a cure

To enable man to enjoy a longevity

Where death ceases to haunt his mind.

The Song of Prayer

(A Prose Poem)

Ye up from bed, it is prayer time,

Pure in mind, raise your voice in his praise,

Is it one god or many

It one shape or many shape

Or is it shapeless

Or is it female form

Makes no difference to the devotee

Each has regal splendor of its own

And makes you feel equality at home

Instills in you high moral virtues

Of love, sympathy and forgiveness

Lays claim to govern the moral order

The cosmic phenomena

While being part there or

To sustain it, to keep it going,

Each endowed with enormous power

To subdue mind, to thwart evil,

To make you feel humble, to flush out all impurities

(as no prayer is worthwhile with mind remaining impure)
and allow peace to reign while the prayer goes on.

2) Ye up from bed to sing the song of prayer

Each prayer an offering to almighty

A garland of pearls offered in love

To seek pardon for sins committed

In thought, word or deed,

The list can be long, as the mind can never be stable,

(Unless trained in a different way)

Find, a covenant , grilled in many ways,

Victim of tempests rising inside

No escape route to avoid committing sin

Each act planned in the silence of the chamber

With doors closed

o grab a larger slice of material riches

Or satisfy lustful cravings

To which the body succumbs so very easily

Or get at power by methods twisted and tainted

Or by wading through pool of blood

Prayer the biggest antidote to mitigate sin

And to eascape its after effects

Achievement grooved in sin

Is a life condemned

Acts marking success circumvementing sin

Will rank among the best of prayers.

3) ye up from bed lest you miss the prayer

For there is no better way to cleanse the mind

Prayer the only escape route for the woes of man

To provide the grip to lift yourself up

To rouse the divine in you or bring you near to the divine

To bid goodbye to all that is commercial

And aspire to become part of the great healthy.

August 04, 1997, Hyderabad -500 007

Right and Wrong

I live in the corridor in between right and wrong

The right is the area of righteousness

Where only good deeds are performed

Where good neighbourhood, charity and love are practiced

Where nobody’s bonafides is suspected

Where heroic deeds are performed with a spirit of sacrifice

Where death produces no ripples of fear

But deemed as culmination of a well lived life

Where forces of evil have no chance to penetrate

As each house is built on the hard granite rock of faith

Where each one makes his life one of triumph and glory

Revolving the dharma chakra

To live a life of subdued joy and inner peace.

The wrong is the area where evil has its perpetual sway

Where people wallow in crime, sedition and intrigue

Where evill is not confined to a small part but spread all over the body

Where shafts of cruelty and barbarism are used to pull to ground pieces of art soaked in the sanctity of a glorious past where pride of place is given to the cult of bomb

And diabolical plans are nurtured and used with devastating effect

To target citadels of power and authority

Where people steeped in a philosophy of obscurantism call the shots

And law is demonized to impose bondage and servitude

As for myself I have chosen my path long back

To live in the safety zone or the corridor

Where honest people live watch with dismay the predations of evil forces

Spill into the area

To carry away sheep and cattle in revelry

To make a bonfire, to indulge

Still I live in hope the corridor will one day become a land

Where peace and joy prevail.

Who is this dame that obeys no laws?

1) Who is this dame that obeys no laws

And claims its origin in some dim, dark days

When man had yet to learn to walk,

Conjures the mind with visions of the past

Giving no clues to the tangled web of events,

Putting at the helm now one, then another,

Each claiming superior to the other

Every time springing a surprise

An election debacle, a military coup,

Or the more daunting assassin’s hand

Settling the issue for the while;

Or when things take a dramatic turn

An invader from outside or a revolution inside

To claim the mandate, but all the while,

“it is the people that rule always”

The highest bidder proclaims each time

While always it is the people

That are taken for the ride.

2) there are no set rules for the drama that is history

It is a paradise where you can roam as you like;

There is no need to go step by step,

To provide the right answer for the right question;

The historical process none can analyse

Where millions are involved in money and men

And ideas too sprouting from nowhere;

We may begin hoping we are at the end

But fin ourselves still very near the beginning

But if the issues are more tangled,

We may be hoping we are at the beginning of the end

But end only where no end is seen;

We claim it is typical of our studies

Where glory and power collude and reign.

3) But where power corrupts, glory departs.,

And blemishes are galore where ends only count,

But all this is our preserve, we hold dear,

To stigmatize or eulogize, to cover up or dress up,

But always the motive with no one to suspect

As ours is the last word, with no axe to grind,

The gospel we proclaim with all our strength,

“there is nothing heinous in the pursuit of power

The shield we provide is the shield of art

And swear always were are guided by truth;

4) Still we lay claim to the portals of science

Building the biggest bastion of variegated colours

Portraying the expanse of human mind

And of achievements in peace and war

Of infinite variety and ineffable charm

No other science to compete or compare

To scale the heights, or see the grandeur around,

But dealing with those in the corridors of power

Is our hobby and our pleasure

We make the laws and give the judgement

And confer greatness where it is due

While many an Utopia of distant dream
Ushered with fanfare and held aloft,

Marking the dawn of the Millennium

Lie disheveled, disrobed and smothered,

Smitten to pieces under the quicksands of history

But inspire still, defying time

Sparkle and glitter in their broken might

With their message all too wise,

“Past is to dead and never will die,

And shadows the present and is very much in the present”.

I am a Teacher

A PROSE POEM

I am a teacher and destined to be one

For me to be a teacher is a matter of pride

I find no need to covet another’s wealth

As the wealth I won is itself so vast

The more I draw on it the more it grows;

Nor need I speak anything verging on falsehood

Since my job is to disseminate what all I know which is all culled from different masterminds

Whose sense of veracity was never in doubt;

But never I own this knowledge as a monopoly right

To be used to expose or exploit or make fun at some one

Who revel in ignorance giving ear to none;

Who am I to strike awe and wonder in gullible minds?

It is not to seek praise nor win glory I teach,

The knowledge I have I hold in deep trust

To be called a trustee in the true Gandhian sense

To make it available to as many as desire

And as freely too as the rain that comes

Making myself available even in odd hours

Using sparkling sentences and phrases conveying deep meaning

Always ensuring I am clear and carry conviction

The greater the knowledge and larger the circle it reaches

Greater is the joy and the peace that ensues.

2) But there is an ultimate to what one professes to know

There is a limit beyond which mind refuses to be strained

To be ranked among the grand masters is given only to the few

They are the stars which are resplendent

Theirs is the luster of the divine grace

To become a teacher one has to learn and learn

But as something new is added something may also go

And as the age advances the problem complicates

And makes you realize that the tree can grow no further,

But for the art of spinning and weaving words

Making a garb of great beauty and charm

There seems to be no limit to the foliage it puts forth

Ranging in colours from crimson red to dark green

Oh what a joy it gives to make a thundering speech

Using flowing words sparkling with deep resonance and pellucid thought

It is a gift which can make angels envy,

But here lurks the danger of getting engulfed in pride

For one may occasionally fumble and mumble

With thoughts getting jammed in a gorge reaching a dead end

The patience of the audience getting sorely tested

A sensible teacher guards himself against all pitfalls

And is rarely jubilant even when the audience gives a resounding cheer

And grafts in the subconscious the homily of the mean

That any things going to the head will have its fall.

3) There are some teachers who excel as preachers

(and there is an element of moral in all good teaching)

But to be a moralist without being truly moral

Own make you sound hollow with derision to boot

For it is always better to be a moralist in thought and action

Than pretend to be naive while preaching so many

But where a teacher has a message to convey

And knows he is sure of his ground

His message conveyed in golden letters and in glittering print

He has no fear, his bonafides is above board

There is what is called the courage of conviction

Then the teacher ceases to be a mere preacher

He will attain a stature which is all too different

And when he departs shedding his earthly coil

He will be remembered as one who tolled hard

Leaving many a foot print on the High Road of eternal Quest.

The Dawn Ushering The New Year

“I see the Dawn ushering the New Year” – Welcome to New Year Vibhava.

1. I see the dawn ushering the New Year

Its glorious colours thrilling the heart,

I hear the song sweeter than nectar

The little black bird pealing out in rhapsody,

I see young maidens in their best costumes

Gathering flowers, making themselves merry,

 Their smiles, like the hues of sapphire,

 radiating innocence,

 I see everywhere joy, the Mother Earth herself

 playing the guitar,

 Her sweet kiss and warm hug banishing fear

 from every head.

2. I see the dawn ushering the New Year

 Making me remember the days gone by

The struggle I had to walk erect

To live in the world and still be out of it,

 To stand up to truth and with no grease to the palm,

 To be a teacher indeed was no mere dream

 And do one’s duty was itself its reward.

3. I see the dawn ushering the New Year

Rousing hopes in me of joining the immortals

To strain my utmost to get the vision of Beauty,

of Cosmic Effulgence,

To pour over pages to destroy lingering cobwebs

of ignorance and superstition,

To elevate the mind where none is seen as inferior

And vie with the chosen that leave their prints

on the sands of  Fame.

4. I see the dawn ushering the New Year

That works miracles, making hope eternal,

That provides the healing touch to the festering sores,

That puts down the flame in the cauldron,

That restores dignity to the downtrodden,

and helps us to proclaim

That Peace and Sanity shall reign

And the World shall always be One.

Composed by R. Suryanarayana Murthy in celebration of Telugu New Year ‘VIBHAVA’ on March 18, 1988.

Supreme  Phenomenon

I saw thee dragging thy feet up the stairs

Making me watch every movement of thine

Step by step, you steadied up,

Thy broad smile hiding all thy effort

What angel pushes thee up no eye can see.

I saw thee stretching, hugging the mother earth,

Rising and falling while crawling all the way;

All to thyself, no pitfall to frighten thee,

Nor danger lurking can stop thee going

And when the journey was finished there is that glow

“Who can beat me in the race?” thy challenge goes out

Thou art the victor in all such deeds.

Thou wert the star attraction of all ages,

Napoleon acclaiming thee as the greatest of all creation;

Saintly Gandhi hugged thee to press his lips on thine

“Chacha” Nehru crawled by thy side forgetting his power and pomp;

Can the royal throne or sceptred sway provide anything equal to thee?

Thou hast remained through ages humanity’s main hope in a naughty world.

Why did the Buddha see in thy birth unredeemed sorrow and suffering?

Why was it that Jesus saw in thy advent the gnawing pain of unsullied sin?

Or why was it the great Sankara said that thy emergence was enveloped in ‘Maya’ or illusion?

Thou did confound every philosopher and kept to thyself the mystery surrounding thy species

Thou an enigma and a riddle proclaiming the unanswerable divine will.

Still the world all over rejoices in thee and gives thee royal welcome

Without thee life is a desert with no flower to bloom,

Without thee the sweetest of poetry finds no place in heart

Thou art the greatest messenger of love

And give thy message to everybody, “Love thy neighbour as thou lovest thy child,

And see in every person a latent child

And discard all hatred that corrodes the soul.”

What more sublime is there than thy living touch

What greater joy is there than thy winning smile?

For me thou art a Supreme Phenomenon

With none to surpass not even the father, nor the mother.

(This poem was published in Indian Express, Hyderabad (A.P.) Daily Edition dated November 09, 1986. )

A Perpetual Fight  

It is a fight the like of which no one can imagine

A fight where the enemy has the edge

Using weapons having the sharpness of a sword

And having physical proportions of a devil though in human shape;

Mine are somewhat rusted nor can be wielded with any strength

As creeping old age makes the muscles lose their sheen

Still I garner all the strength to give a strong fight

To escape deadly blows and cruel fisticuffs

Though I survive I lie prostrate

The devil declares its victory with a bugle sound

Though it cannot kill as it pertains to the domain of God

It shouts loudly ” This is not enough

I will have a bigger fight

My plan is to make mincemeat of your body

It is to see your faculties are destroyed

Your memory power,

Your intellectual strength, your deep understanding of the past,

Your capacity to stand up against untruth and injustice

Will all disappear with one blow

You will be reduced to a level

Where man started his living millions of years back

As a cave dweller, as a hunter, eating raw meat or fruit

With little brain power barring raw instincts”

I get up overcoming fatigue and slumber

I realize I can yield no more ground if I have to survive

Without faculties I will be nowhere

They are my real wealth and shall remain with me

While I am alive

I may grow old in age but not in mind;

I challenge the devil for another fight

Though hands shake and legs shiver

The mind remains strong

It tells the body not to lose heart

As there are ways and means to keep the devil at bay;

The mind gets its strength from food received through secret parlour

Not known to anybody except myself

As the feed goes on it continues the fight

The forces well placed on either side

The fight goes on, it is a perpetual fight

It is part of the great mystery that is called human life.

Where Can Poetry Come From?

Where can poetry come from ?

Mind facing slow desertification, a creeping death,

Advancing age crippling faculties, putting them in bind

Myself feeling lonely and forlorn

There might be a patch of fertile land

Hugging the mind here and there

But who will sow the seed or water the plant

Withered plants strewn all over

Land turning more gravely as days pass by

Who can stop the process or reverse the trend

Man is no god and has to face the inevitable one day.

The child is lucky that way

It too cannot stand erect, nor walk straight,

Falls to the ground each time with bruises all over,

But rescued always with a warm hug by the loving mother

While in bed the child is lulled to sleep with a lullaby

The child hugging mother’s bosom while asleep, its sheet anchor,

The child smiles wandering in a dreamland undisturbed

Producing low musical sounds, its poetry culled from the stellar regions,

But for me it is gloom all over

Desertification spreading, covering pores in the mind;

Is there no balm to restore calm to an agonising soul

And allow it to sprout new seeds of joy and hope?

“How can poetry come ?” the mind persists

“Give courage, give confidence, give security” beams a voice from inside

Poetry will blossom then, like the triple stream

The mythical Saraswati

Bubbling and bursting, piercing the layers of the earth

To reach the surface

Spreading greenery all over the land.