SikhSpectrum.com Quarterly Issue No.30, November 2007
The Morning Raga
- Zoya Zaidi
The morning raga of Bhairavi starts softly, almost inaudibly, in madham Sur (soft notes) and slowly, very slowly, and gradually builds up into the confluence of crescendos of Alaps (high notes), filling the morning air with its heavenly, supreme melody. Just like the morning itself, that gradually, imperceptibly, unfolds itself to the world.
Rag Bhairavi’- the Morning Raga- Indian Minitures – Bundi School
There is nothing like waking up with the first crack of dawn. The world is quiet, enveloped in a grey sheet of haze, interrupted only by the chirruping of birds.
If you stand atop a cliff, or simply on your terrace or balcony, and watch the light slowly spread itself on the horizon: the light pink, then orange and red, slowly gives over to yellow light till the sun starts to peep out in the east and grows bigger and bigger; slowly and indiscernibly the world lights up, and before you know, you can’t look the sun straight in the face. But, by that time the light has entered you soul and, without your knowing it, you are all aglow with the warmth of its magic. You are aware of a certain fresh, cleansing feeling (see photo: At the crack of Dawn).
The morning air is fresh, dew-drenched, and delicate, touching your skin caressingly, sending a wave of quiver down your spine, not due to cold, but due to the sheer ecstasy of the sensation. The feeling is indescribable. You have to experience it to know it.
Suddenly your mood lifts up, your mind clears up, mind, fresh from the night’s rest, pure pristine, positive, like Truth itself- beautiful-“Satyam, Shivam, Sundaram!”(Truth is Shiva, and Shiva is beautiful), (see photo: ‘Azan-e Sahar’-call for the Morning Prayer).
Not for nothing do they say: getting up in the morning is like paying your obeisance to Divine. The sheer beauty of Nature makes you feel closer to God, you feel like bowing down your head to Him for creating this beautiful world. You become sensitive to the beauty of his Creation. (see photo-‘Silver Lining in my Cloud’)
Every dew-drenched leave is fresh green, slowly, the dew evaporates, and you can literally see the vapours settled in a haze over the grass and trees, as the day progresses, the mist disappears, and the magic of the moment is lost. All this happens so slowly and unnoticeably that you’re left wondering when did this happen? But the magic of the moment stays with you throughout the day. (see photo: Mist in the Valley)
Go to the mountains, stand atop a cliff, and see the sun slowly peep-out from behind the snow-covered peaks. Or go to the seashore, and see how the sun rises from where the water-edge meets the horizon- drenched in a golden molten light like a maiden with golden hair- like a mermaid, rising from the sea. It is simply divine, heavenly. (see photo: Sunrise at Casey Beach- Bateman’s Bay, South Coast, Australia)
Or stand on a river-bank and watch the town on the opposite side slowly appear from behind the mist, as the sun lifts its head on the other bank…(see photo: Dawn at Hooglee, Calcutta)
Early morning, Casey Beach,
Bateman’s Bay,
Golden sand beneath my feet,
I walk with a sway;
Sun rising in the east
Takes my breath away;
Pink hues of the morn
Kissed by the golden ray;
Boats marooned on the shore-
Sails down, hull stayed-
Rock in a rhythmic way;
Sea-gulls strut about the sand,
Their dainty feet, sinking,
Make patterns on the bay;
The Magic of the moment
Cast a spell on the soul
Swishing sorrows away…
Beneath the surface calm
Of the pacific sea,
Thousand tumults,
Thousand storms-
Hidden deep within its bosom-
Belie the peace of the morn…
Till some black and passionate night
Unveils the pain of the deep within,
Tosses the sea about,
Whipping a frenzy up with waves,
Uprooting everything in its wake…
Next morning:
Fallen trees, torn sails,
Broken boats,
Crows hovering over the wreck…
Is this the same shore?
The same sea,
The self-same Pacific Bay?
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