वन्दे मातरम्
सुजलां सुफलां मलयजशीतलाम्
शस्यशामलां मातरम् ।
शुभ्रज्योत्स्नापुलकितयामिनीं
फुल्लकुसुमितद्रुमदलशोभिनीं
सुहासिनीं सुमधुर भाषिणीं
सुखदां वरदां मातरम् ।। १ ।। वन्दे मातरम् ।
कोटि-कोटि-कण्ठ-कल-कल-निनाद-कराले
कोटि-कोटि-भुजैर्धृत-खरकरवाले,
अबला केन मा एत बले ।
बहुबलधारिणीं नमामि तारिणीं
रिपुदलवारिणीं मातरम् ।। २ ।। वन्दे मातरम् ।
तुमि विद्या, तुमि धर्म
तुमि हृदि, तुमि मर्म
त्वं हि प्राणा: शरीरे
बाहुते तुमि मा शक्ति,
हृदये तुमि मा भक्ति,
तोमारई प्रतिमा गडि
मन्दिरे-मन्दिरे मातरम् ।। ३ ।। वन्दे मातरम् ।
त्वं हि दुर्गा दशप्रहरणधारिणी
कमला कमलदलविहारिणी
वाणी विद्यादायिनी, नमामि त्वाम्
नमामि कमलां अमलां अतुलां
सुजलां सुफलां मातरम् ।। ४ ।। वन्दे मातरम् ।
श्यामलां सरलां सुस्मितां भूषितां
धरणीं भरणीं मातरम् ।। ५ ।। वन्दे मातरम् ।।
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-5BJSmf-a74&feature=player_embedded
Translation by Sri Aurobindo
Mother, I bow to thee!
Rich with thy hurrying streams,
bright with orchard gleams,
Cool with thy winds of delight,
Dark fields waving Mother of might,
Mother free.
Glory of moonlight dreams,
Over thy branches and lordly streams,
Clad in thy blossoming trees,
Mother, giver of ease
Laughing low and sweet!
Mother I kiss thy feet,
Speaker sweet and low!
Mother, to thee I bow.
Who hath said thou art weak in thy lands
When the sword flesh out in the seventy million hands
And seventy million voices roar
Thy dreadful name from shore to shore?
With many strengths who art mighty and stored,
To thee I call Mother and Lord!
Though who savest, arise and save!
To her I cry who ever her foeman drove
Back from plain and Sea
And shook herself free.
Thou art wisdom, thou art law,
Thou art heart, our soul, our breath
Though art love divine, the awe
In our hearts that conquers death.
Thine the strength that nervs the arm,
Thine the beauty, thine the charm.
Every image made divine
In our temples is but thine.
Thou art Durga, Lady and Queen,
With her hands that strike and her
swords of sheen,
Thou art Lakshmi lotus-throned,
And the Muse a hundred-toned,
Pure and perfect without peer,
Mother lend thine ear,
Rich with thy hurrying streams,
Bright with thy orchard gleems,
Dark of hue O candid-fair
In thy soul, with jewelled hair
And thy glorious smile divine,
Lovilest of all earthly lands,
Showering wealth from well-stored hands!
Mother, mother mine!
Mother sweet, I bow to thee,
Mother great and free!
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ઇંગ્લિશ ડિક્શનરીમાં એક શબ્દ છે ‘Dickensian’, અને તેની વ્યાખ્યા આ મુજબ છેઃ ‘the environments and situations most commonly portrayed in Dickens’ writings, such as poverty and social injustice and other aspects of Victorian England’. આ વ્યાખ્યાથી કેટલાક પ્રશ્ન ઉદ્દભવે છે ઃ કોણ હતા આ ચાર્લ્સ ડિકન્સ? કેવું હતું તેમણે આલેખેલું વિક્ટોરીઅન ઇંગ્લેન્ડ? અને તે સમયમાં લખાયેલું ડિકન્સનું સાહિત્ય આજના જમાનામાં કેટલું પ્રાસ્તાવિક છે?
પછીના ચાર-પાંચ મહિના ચાર્લ્સના જીવનના બહુ પીડાદાયક દિવસો હતા. શરીર તોડી નાખે તેવી મજૂરી ઉપરાંત અપૂરતો ખોરાક, ઝૂંપડપટ્ટી જેવું રહેઠાણ અને એકદમ બરછટ સાથીદારોએ ચાર્લ્સના માનસને બહુ પીડ્યું. આ શરમિંદગીભરી પરિસ્થિતિએ ચાર્લ્સના સંવેદનશીલ માનસ પર પ્રગાઢ અસર છોડી હતી, પણ તેઓ ‘ડેવિડ કોપરફિલ્ડ’ના થોડાંક પાનાંઓ સિવાય જીવનપર્યંત એ અનુભવ વિષે કદી બોલ્યા નહીં. ગરીબ અને ગરીબીનો જે પ્રત્યક્ષ અનુભવ થયો, તેણે ચાર્લ્સના ઘડતરમાં મહત્ત્વનો ફાળો આપ્યો છે. એ પરિસ્થિતિને યાદ કરતાં તેમણે પોતાના બાયોગ્રાફર જ્હોન ફોસ્ટરને કહ્યું હતું ઃ ‘The blacking-warehouse was … a crazy, tumble-down old house, … literally overrun with rats. Its wainscoted rooms, and its rotten floors and staircase, and the old grey rats swarming down in the cellars, and the sound of their squeaking and scuffling coming up the stairs at all times, and the dirt and decay of the place, rise up visibly before me, as if I were there again. The counting-house was on the first floor, looking over the coal-barges and the river. There was a recess in it, in which I was to sit and work. My work was to cover the pots of paste-blacking; first with a piece of oil-paper, and then with a piece of blue paper; to tie them round with a string; and then to clip the paper close and neat, all round, until it looked as smart as a pot of ointment from an apothecary's shop. When a certain number of grosses of pots had attained this pitch of perfection, I was to paste on each a printed label, and then go on again with more pots. Two or three other boys were kept at similar duty down-stairs on similar wages. One of them came up, in a ragged apron and a paper cap, on the first Monday morning, to show me the trick of using the string and tying the knot. His name was Bob Fagin; and I took the liberty of using his name, long afterwards, in Oliver Twist.’ (from The Life of Charles Dickens)