Below is a Sindhi sufi song sung by the late, great Alan Fakir, Tadahen Milandaseen (Then, We Shall Meet). The meaning is provided by someone called m47nu:

The mood is of separation and waiting to be united with the beloved. The double meaning is that of the Sufi waiting all his life for one glimpse of The Almighty’s face:

When the red flowers fall off the branches then we shall meet

When the Koonjs (birds) return (from their migration)and create their noise everywhere then we shall meet

The accursed cheeks shall be drenched when the pearldrops flow (from the eyes)

The days of separation are the mistaken illusion of the foolish (because there is no separation, the beloved is always with you)

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Pandharpur lies of the banks of the River Bheem, that is also referred to as the Chandrabhaga. Chandrabhaga means crescent moon. The Chandrabhaga too is often referenced in Abhangas.

There is information about Pandharpur on the web, but Dilip Chitre’s notes in Says Tuka are also very useful as always:

Pandharpur lies to the south-east of Bombay, about 480 kilometres away, on the Deccan plateau; the river Bheema, which at this point is given the poetic name “Chandrabhaga” or “crescent moon”, flows through the sacred city housing the premier shrine of Vitthal; it is an ancient settlement on a busy junction of old trade routes passing through a river valley; for the last seven hundred years Varkari pilgrims have been gathering here twice every year to attend the festival of Vitthal; the Varkaris believe that Vitthal is the form in which Vishnu himself landed on the Earth to visit his great devotee, Pundalik, and has been standing since on “the Brick” on which Pundalik asked him “to wait for a while”; the cult of Vithoba or Vitthal is thus centred in Pandharpur as its sacred geographical nucleus; a Maharashtra-wide network of pilgrim routes meets at this centre; Pandharpur is also the city where the poet-saints and devotees of Vithoba gave a shape to the Marathi language and its literary culture by assimilating the dialects of various pilgrims and disseminated a sense of equality, brotherhood, and spititual community; Tukaram has several poems about Pandharpur and its sacred importance; he also addresses Vitthal quite often as the “Lord of Pandharpur”, Tukaram has stressed the importance of the pilgrimage and the Varkari way of life; but it is not clear whether Tukaram regularly visited Pandharpur himself; he has an epistolatory poem to Vitthal “sent” with Varkari pilgrims; in another poem he describes himself as waiting anxiously for news from Pandharpur and news about Vitthal’s welfare; Varkaris symbolically carry the “spirit of Tukaram” from Dehu to Pandharpur on their regular pilgrimage; this custom is followed till this day; all their beloved saints from Jnanadev to Tukaram are believed to be present in spirit at every festival in Pandharpur; traditions of the poetry of the saints are maintained in oral form and as performed songs through the living medium of the pilgrimage and the festival in which it culminates.

Sakal Tirthahuni Pandhari Mugutmani – Sant Tukaram, sung by Pandit Ajit Kadkade

Majhe Maher Pandhari, Sant Eknath-sung by Pandit Bhimsen Joshi.

This is a famous Abhang, in which Sant Eknath refers to Pandharpur as his “maher” or “mother’s home,” also known as the “maika” and the Chandrabhaga as his sister.

Married Indian women are said to talk about their mother’s home as a place of love, rest, and relaxation. In the Abhangas, Vitthal himself is often referred to in the feminine, as the Divine Mother.

An abhang, when sung, said my friend, should make the blood race. This is blood racing excellence-

Kaya Hi Pandhari-Sant Eknath-sung by Pandit Bhimsen Joshi-In the Abhanga below, Sant Eknath says Pandharpur can actually be found right where one is, in one’s own body. The body thus becomes a tirtha.

In an abhang with a similar theme, Sant Tukaram says “Deh Devache Mandir”, i.e. the Body is the Temple of God:
Deh Devache Madir-Sant Tukaram, sung by Udayraj Godbole.

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• The Abhang or Abhanga-1
• The Abhang 5-My Tongue, Learn to Chant His Name
• The Abhang 4-A man is only as chaste as his own belief
• The Abhang 2- Sawale sundara, The Dark, Beautiful One
• Introducing Yourself to Indian Classical Music 15: Bhajan Break

I still drink a warm glass before bed sometimes, just like my mother gave me. Last night I had some milk with chyawanprash and my cousin who is visiting was overcome with disgust!

Jo Kheer Piye
So veer thiye
Dand zor vathhan
Daadha sunhira lagan
Akhiun jyot vadhe
Dadhi sunha thiye
Vathe zor badan
Lighan chust thiyan
Kheer safa sutho
Wah dadho mitho
Baaro acho piyoun
Bhare khir vatiyoun
De khir amma
Pee Sumhan Vanya/Pee Parhan Vanya

Two versions of the song-one here (the auntie at the beginning is a little scary) and one below:
I was able to get this version thanks to the Sindhi Sangat page-I don’t know who the singers are:

The one who drinks milk
Becomes brave/heroic
Has Strong teeth
Looks very handsome
The glow in (his/her) eyes increases
Develops strong limbs
Milk is (certainly) so pure (nice,clean)
Oh so sweet
Come children
The bowls are filled with milk
Give me milk mother
So that I may sleep/So that I may study

Thanks to KS, RS and Lakhmi Uncle.

This post for the Tulika blogathon (that may already be over).

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This probably happened because I write on Carnatic music and I like Tamil film songs.

I explained to the originator of the list and my new list of followers that I wasn’t Tamilian, so that they wouldn’t be disappointed later.

It was certainly very flattering to be thought of as Tamilian (as I love the language, food and culture), though I must admit to being perturbed by people following someone solely on the basis of their ethnic origins (I must add, it doesn’t seem to have made a difference to quite a few of the followers that I am not Tam and they’re still on my list. Although I don’t know if they’re still there to avoid my ego being punctured by their departure).

I once went to an Ajoy Chakraborty concert in London. He is a famous Hindustani musician. At this concert, the audience was jam packed with Bongs. I was mistaken for a Bong there. I was annoyed because these people hadn’t turned up when other very good people sang, and that led me to the conclusion they were only there because Ajoy is a Bong (and they were hugely proud of that fact) and not because they care for Hindustani music per se.

Which leads me to think, quite morosely, that if I announce I am a Sindhi, and start blogging on Sindhi music, language and literature, whatever I write/tweet may be almost unread.

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• What is a Raga (3)- Aaroh/Avroh or Aarohana and Avarohana (Ascending and Descending Note Sequences)
• Introducing Yourself to Indian Classical Music 15: Bhajan Break
• Introducing Yourself to Indian Classical Music 14: More on Sur/Shruti or Pitch
• Introducing Yourself to Indian Classical Music 13-What’s your frequency? The Tanpura/Tambura and finding your Sur, Shruti or Pitch
• Introducing Yourself to Indian Classical Music 12-The Saptaswaras in the South- the Carnatic notes

“Tcheh!” my mother used to say, employing her favourite dismissive term, when she would see me, aged about eight, staring at the illustration of a young Parvati playing, in my Amar Chitra Katha comic, “Tales of the Mother Goddess”. The coy smile, the large eyes, the sweetness Parvati dripped from every pore had me riveted, for two whole years at least.

“Parvati doesn’t look like that,” my mother would say, disgusted.

“How do you know?,” I would ask, my eyes still glued to the page. A valid question, not just because Parvati belongs to the ethereal realms, but because my mother is an atheist.

“Our goddesses don’t look like Barbie dolls,” my mother would reply and that was that. She continued to buy me Amar Chitra Katha comics however, because I devoured them. In between, of course, I was taken all over the country and shown sculptures, paintings and temples which depicted the goddesses rather differently.

Several years later, an interest in goddesses and goddess worship (and an inability to appreciate Amar Chitra Kathas any more) led to reading some academic books on the subject. I purchased a copy of the Chandi Path (also known as the Devi Mahatmyam and the Durga Saptashati) translated by Swami Satyananda Saraswati.Hymns from the Chandi were familiar to me, but I had never read the whole thing from start to finish.

What appealed to me and what stands out immediately in Swami Satyananda Saraswati’s translation was that it has the Sanskrit text in Devanagari (in a nice large font) followed by the transliteration in English which in turn is followed by the translation. Thus, if one wants to read the Sanskrit side by side with the translation, this version makes it very easy.

The Devī Māhātmya consists of chapters 81-93 of the Mārkandeya Purana, one of the early Sanskrit Puranas, which is a set of stories being related by the sage Markandeya to Jaimini and his students (who are in the form of birds). The thirteen chapters of Devi Māhātmya are divided into three charitas or episodes. At the beginning of each episode a different presiding goddess is invoked, none of whom is mentioned in the text itself.

The framing narrative of Devi Mahatmya presents a dispossessed king, a merchant betrayed by his family, and a sage whose teachings lead them both beyond existential suffering. The sage instructs by recounting three different epic battles between the Devi and various demonic adversaries (the three tales being governed by, respectively, Mahakali (Chapter 1), Mahalakshmi (Chapters 2-4) and Mahasaraswati (Chapters 5-13). Most famous is the story of Mahishasura Mardini – Devi as “Slayer of the Buffalo Demon” – one of the most ubiquitous images in Hindu art and sculpture, and a tale known almost universally in India. Among the important goddess forms the Devi Mahatmyam introduced into the Sanskritic mainstream are Kali and the Sapta-Matrika (“Seven Mothers”).

link

It being the occasion of Navratri, I finally embarked on a complete reading and recitation of the text, including the extra Angas (limbs or appendages) often attached at the beginning and end of the text, such as the Devi Kavacham and the Argala Stotram. I decided to recite it over nine days as is traditionally done.

These texts are meant to be spoken, not silently read, even if one is not praying or reading them as part of ritual. Reciting the text enabled a greater appreciation of the sound and flow of the language (which is especially beautiful in the hymnic parts such as in the Ya Devi hymn and the Narayani Stuti) and the meanings that attach to it (it should go without saying that it is not possible to attach a single meaning to the Mahatmya).

It is possible to say the seven hundred verses are simply telling us quite a gripping story about the Goddess destroying the asuras Shumbha, Nishumbha and Mahishasur-no doubt embedded in many people’s memory as the dark demons in Amar Chitra Katha. On the other hand, there have been several commentaries on the Mahatmyam, both ancient and contemporary, that discuss all the various layers that the verses hint at:

Coburn says:

The sage’s three tales are allegories of outer and inner experience, symbolized by the fierce battles the all-powerful Devi wages against throngs of demonic foes. Her adversaries represent the all-too-human impulses arising from the pursuit of power, possessions and pleasure, and from illusions of self-importance. Like the battlefield of the Bhagavad Gita, the Devi Mahatmya’s killing grounds represent the field of human consciousness … The Devi, personified as one supreme Goddess and many goddesses, confronts the demons of ego and dispels our mistaken idea of who we are, for – paradoxically – it is she who creates the misunderstanding in the first place, and she alone who awakens us to our true being.

link

Swami Satyananda Saraswati has sought to unpack the esoteric meaning of the Mahatmya by translating not just the text but the names of the characters, by examining the root meanings of the words. For example he translates Asuras as “thoughts”. He says in his introduction:

In the case of the enemies of the Gods, Asuras, which has been rendered as “Thoughts,” primarily the root meanings of the words have been employed. Asuras in Vaidika usage is an epithet of both the Gods and their enemies alike. It means variously: spiritual, incorporeal, divine, a good spirit; an evil spirit, an opponent of the Gods. In the Puranic literature it is almost exclusively in this latter sense that the term is used. Just as the Gods or Devas are the forces of clear perception, their opponents must be those that obscure clear perception-self-centred, egotistical thoughts.

Brahma’s name is translated most often as the “Creative Capacity” and Shiva is translated as the “Consciousness of Infinite Goodness”. Take the lines “Tato-tikopa Purnasya cakrino vadanAt tatah
NishakrAm mahattejo brahmanah shankarasya cha”

They are translated as:

And in excessive rage a great light emanated from the face of He Who Holds the Discus of Revolving Time, and from the Creative Capacity and the Consciousness of Infinite Goodness

These lines could have been translated as “And in excessive rage a great light emanated from the face of Vishnu, and from Brahma and Shiva.” Satyananda Saraswati’s translation is interesting because it does not remain literal, and in not doing so, is revealing another way of looking at the Mahatmya. At times all the various deconstructed names of the characters do get a bit overwhelming and it is possible for one to lose the thread of the narration. It would have been nice to retain the names, at least in brackets. So “True Wealth” could have been followed by Lakshmi in brackets and the “Spirit of All Pervading Knowledge” by Saraswati and “The Reliever of Difficulties” by Durga.

Chandi, in this translation, is the the Goddess who tears apart all thought, though she herself is the cause of all delusion. The Chandi Path is about how Self- Conceit, Self-Deprecation and the Great Ego (the asuras) inspire selfishness and how to surrender these thoughts to the Goddess.

On the question of thought, Maya, ego and selfishness-adharma in general, there are many commentaries, including those on the Chandi. One might not agree with this way of looking at thought and the processes of the human mind, nonetheless, this is a translation that I would recommend, to be read along with other translations, as the Chandi not only contains poetic brilliance but some interesting philosophical concepts to chew over. In short, it can be read by the interested student of literature and philosophy, who may not have a particularly religious bent of mind and by the devotee.

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