Arguably the most read, recited and discussed poem of Bengali literature, 'Bonolata Sen' written by Jibanananda Das in 1933 remains one of my most favorite poems of all times. The poet's imaginary lover, Bonolata Sen, embodies a mystical aura of femininity and womanly warmth. With a feel of travelling through time immemorial, and across thousands of miles, and with the pitch darkness of the night as its backdrop, the poem has a soothing allure, and attracts me to it like a bee towards a flower. The poem has all the elements of every dreamer's fantasies, and like the greedy bee inevitably drawn towards the flower, I keep coming back to the poem, reading the lines time and again, regardless of the hundreds of times I have already been through them..
Hajar bochhor dhore ami poth hathitechhi prithibir pothe
Singhal somudro theke aro dur ondhokaare Maloy sagore
Onek ghurechhi ami. Bimbisar-Ashoker dhushor jogote
Shekhane chhilam ami. Aaro dur ondhokar bidorbho nogore
Aami klanto praan ek, chaaridike jiboner shomudro shofen,
Aamare du-dondo shanti diyechhilo Natorer Bonolata Sen.
Chool tar kobekar ondhokaar bidishaar nisha,
Mukh tar srabostir karukaarjo. Otidur shomidrer 'por
Haal bhange je naabik hariyechhe disha,
Shobuj ghaasher desh jokhon she chokhhe dekhe Daruchinir dweeper bhitor
Temoni dekhechhi taare ondhokaare.
Bolechhe she, "eto din kothaye chhilen?"
Paakhir neerer moto chokh tule Natorer Bonolata Sen.
Shomosto diner sheshe shishirer shobder moton
Shondhya aashe. Daanar roudrer gondho muchhe fele cheel.
Prithibir shob rong muchhe gele paandulipi kore aayojon,
Tokhon golper tore jonakir ronge jhilmil.
Shob paakhi ghore aashe - shob nodi. Furaye e' jiboner shob len-den.
Thake shudhu ondhokaar, mukhomukhi boshibar Bonolata Sen...
For thousands of years I roamed the paths of this earth,
From waters around Ceylon in dead of night to Malayan seas.
Much have I wandered. I was there in the gray world of Asoka
And Bimbisara, pressed on through darkness to the city of Vidarbha.
I am a weary heart surrounded by life's frothy ocean.
To me she gave a moment's peace - Banalata Sen from Natore.
Her hair was like an ancient darkling night in Vidisa
Her face, the craftsmanship of Sravasti. As the helmsman,
His rudder broken, far out upon the sea-adrift,
Sees the grass-green land of a cinnamon isle, just so
Through darkness I saw her. Said she, "Where have you been so long?"
And raised her bird's-nest-like eyes - Banalata Sen from Natore.
At days end, like hush of dew
Comes evening. A hawk wipes the scent of sunlight from its wings,
When earth's colors fade and some pale design is sketched,
Then glimmering fireflies paint in the story.
All birds come home, all rivers, all of this life's tasks finished.
Only darkness remains, as I sit there face to face with Banalata Sen...
From waters around Ceylon in dead of night to Malayan seas.
Much have I wandered. I was there in the gray world of Asoka
And Bimbisara, pressed on through darkness to the city of Vidarbha.
I am a weary heart surrounded by life's frothy ocean.
To me she gave a moment's peace - Banalata Sen from Natore.
Her hair was like an ancient darkling night in Vidisa
Her face, the craftsmanship of Sravasti. As the helmsman,
His rudder broken, far out upon the sea-adrift,
Sees the grass-green land of a cinnamon isle, just so
Through darkness I saw her. Said she, "Where have you been so long?"
And raised her bird's-nest-like eyes - Banalata Sen from Natore.
At days end, like hush of dew
Comes evening. A hawk wipes the scent of sunlight from its wings,
When earth's colors fade and some pale design is sketched,
Then glimmering fireflies paint in the story.
All birds come home, all rivers, all of this life's tasks finished.
Only darkness remains, as I sit there face to face with Banalata Sen...
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