Subtle the line betwixt honor and pride, fine its
delicate shading; a humble loaf may spell dignity,
lofty purples existence degrading. And still
poverty alone cannot sanctify, nor power itself
corrupt: a knife that cuts carrots for the hungry
may loot tender life ill-thrust. Whither our śān,
thither our mān: drummed splendor, discipline,
wonder; vāh bhaī vāh—that KiṬTK DīñSGṚ
DhāS—pure passion, learning, and thunder!
Words severed from their deepest source taste
savorless, insipid, flat; once pakhāvaj, for us,
becomes tambourine, dastār itself becomes hat.
_____
Nihal Singh