Nagra writes new poem, "The Calling", in response to Naidu's "The Gift of India"
Sarojini Naidu's great poem reminds us of the considerable sacrifice made by Indians on behalf of the British empire. Naidu's use of personification appealed to me and inspired me to write about post-empire emigrants from India.
"The Calling" by Daljit Nagra
The night is abrim with the in-between children
they are summoning Mother India
take us back take us back take us back
but the Motherland is piping the old grief
I was down on my knees on my knees
why did you run toward the moon
for the cities with their engines of desire
The night is abrim with the in-between children
their heads are down and are crying
take us back take us back take us back
our songs are afresh with the plough and the oxen,
the smell of open fires where the roti is crackling
and our roses are the roses of home.
"The Gift of India" by Sarojini Naidu
Is there ought you need that my hands withhold,
Rich gifts of raiment or grain or gold?
Lo! I have flung to the East and the West
Priceless treasures torn from my breast,
And yielded the sons of my stricken womb
To the drum-beats of the duty, the sabers of doom.
Gathered like pearls in their alien graves
Silent they sleep by the Persian waves,
Scattered like shells on Egyptian sands,
They lie with pale brows and brave, broken hands,
they are strewn like blossoms mown down by chance
On the blood-brown meadows of Flanders and France
Can ye measure the grief of the tears I weep
Or compass the woe of the watch I keep?
Or the pride that thrills thro' my heart's despair
And the hope that comforts the anguish of prayer?
And the far sad glorious vision I see
Of the torn red banners of victory?
when the terror and the tumult of hate shall cease
And life be refashioned on anvils of peace,
And your love shall offer memorial thanks
To the comrades who fought on the dauntless ranks,
And you honour the deeds of the dauntless ones,
Remember the blood of my martyred sons!
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