Viraha - "It does not die" by Maitreyi Devi

Then we all came inside and sat on the stairs leading to the

yard. Mircea made coffee. It was a star-dusted night.

I had never before nor after seen him so late at night, so that

night for a long time pervaded my mind like a fragrance.

The night has its own beauty and it gives a special vision

to one's eyes. He made the memory of this meeting at night

permanent by presenting that book to me next day. He

wrote my name on it, adding "as a token of friendship

after the earthquake of 28th July 1930". He told me that

it was their custom to present something to a friend after

an earthquake. This is the only reminder of his stay with us

that I have had with me all my life.

He had read out to me portions of the book and also

talked to me about the life of Goethe, the poet who asked for

light. "Light, more light!" he exclaimed on his death bed.

1 realised this was not merely a craving for sunlight for his

death-dimmed eyes, it was just speaking through symbols, as

we speak of the light of intelligence, the light of knowledge . . .

Our poet also has written, "Where is light, where is light--light

it up with the fire of 'viraha'. What is viraha? The

exquisite sorrow of separation from a loved one. But how

can such a thing throw up any glow? Can't the happiness of

union become a light? Why in all the literatures of the world

is separated love extolled? Laila and Majnu, Romeo and

Juliet, Radha and Krishna, even Rama and Sita. ... I don't

understand all these things. When I am upstairs and he is in

his room, I constantly feel a yearning that is painful enough;

but if he goes away, never to return, that will be terrible. I do

not think such a state could give any light, it would lead me

only to unthinkable and impenetrable darkness.

So the Yaksha of Meghdoot put out the light of viraha and dreamt of

the heaven of union. My mind cheered up as I thought of

Meghdoot. I leapt up the stairs reciting the poem. How was

that heaven? "Where there are no tears except tears of joy,

where there is no separation except the love quarrel and no

age except youth. . . ."