Abhanga 21
Half-renunciation is the worst position. You lose what you left and you don't reach what you were going to.
The verse
सांगतों तें तुम्हीं अइकावें कानीं । आमुचे नाचणीं नाचूं नका ॥१॥ जोंवरी या तुम्हां मागिलांची आस । तोंवरी उदास होऊं नका ॥२॥ तुका म्हणे काय वांयांविण धिंद । पति ना गोविंद दोन्ही नाहीं ॥३॥
(Source: transliteral.org Sant Tukaram Gatha, abhang 21. Fifteenth in 0007-0025+ gopī-arc.)
Literal translation
English: Listen to what I am telling you, with your ears: do not dance our dance. As long as you still long for what is behind, do not pretend to be indifferent. Tuka says: what is the use of pointless show? — you will end up with neither the husband nor Govinda.
मराठी (आधुनिक): मी जे सांगते ते कानांनी ऐका — आमची नाचणी नाचू नका. जोपर्यंत मागच्या गोष्टींची आस तुम्हाला आहे, तोपर्यंत उदास व्हायचा खेळ करू नका. तुकाराम म्हणतात — व्यर्थ ढोंग करून काय? तुम्हाला पतीही मिळणार नाही, गोविंदही — दोन्ही जाणार.
Word-by-word gloss
| Marathi | Meaning |
|---|---|
| सांगतों तें तुम्हीं अइकावें कानीं | "what I'm telling you — listen with your ears" |
| आमुचे नाचणीं नाचूं नका | "do not dance our dance" (नाचणीं = dance / way-of-dancing; here: do not adopt our manner) |
| जोंवरी या तुम्हां मागिलांची आस | "as long as you have hope/longing for what is behind / past" (मागिलांची आस = lingering hope of the past) |
| तोंवरी उदास होऊं नका | "until then, do not pretend to be uddhāsīna / indifferent" |
| काय वांयांविण धिंद | "what is the use of pointless show/ostentation?" (वांया = futile; धिंद = ostentation, pretense) |
| पति ना गोविंद दोन्ही नाहीं | "you will have neither the husband nor Govinda — neither of the two" |
What it means
The abhang's core warning is in the third verse — पति ना गोविंद दोन्ही नाहीं, neither husband nor Govinda — both gone. This is the precise failure-mode of half-renunciation. The speaker has, by way of the previous 14 abhangs, paid a real price; she has lost the husband but gained Govinda. The would-be imitator who performs the renunciation while privately remaining attached gets the worst of both: she has damaged the husband-relationship enough to lose him, but has not actually given the love-of-Govinda the conditions it needs to take hold. So she ends with neither. [T]
The phrase आमुचे नाचणीं नाचूं नका — do not dance our dance — is sharp. The speaker is not gatekeeping; she is naming a real danger. The form of renunciation can be copied; the substance cannot. Copying the form without the substance is नाचणीं — a dance, a performance — and it costs the dancer real things while delivering none of the form's actual content. [T]
For someone today
English: This is one of Tukaram's sharpest warnings, and it is uniquely modern-relevant. We live in an age of performed renunciation — minimalism aesthetics, public detachment, "I left the rat race" Instagram posts. Tukaram's claim is precise: if your लोंग for what you claim to have left is still active, do not pretend to be उदासीन. The performance will cost you the relationship to what you are still attached to (it slowly erodes it) without giving you the relationship to what you are pretending to have moved toward (because you haven't actually moved). The result is the worst of both worlds: damaged-original + no-replacement.
The diagnostic is simple: जोंवरी या तुम्हां मागिलांची आस — तोंवरी उदास होऊं नका — as long as you still want what is behind, do not pretend to be indifferent. If you long for the previous life, do not pose detachment from it. Stay honest about the longing. The honest staying-attached is better than the dishonest performed-detachment, because at least the staying preserves the original relationship until the longing genuinely resolves. The performed detachment damages everything.
Tukaram is not telling people not to pursue the path. He is telling them not to fake it. If you are not yet ready to bear what 0007-0010 cost, stay where you are honestly. The path is open whenever the longing has actually shifted; until then, performance is worse than not-walking-the-path-at-all.
मराठी: ही तुकारामांची सर्वात तीक्ष्ण इशाऱ्यांपैकी एक आहे, आणि आजच्या काळात विशेषतः लागू. आपण केलेल्या त्यागाच्या युगात राहतो — minimalism aesthetics, सार्वजनिक अलिप्तता, "मी रॅट-रेस सोडली" चे Instagram posts. तुकारामांचा दावा अचूक आहे: सोडलं म्हणून दाखवलंय त्यासाठीची आस तुम्हाला अजूनही असेल, तर उदासीन होण्याची नाटक करू नका. ती कामगिरी तुम्हाला ज्याच्याशी तुम्ही अजून जोडलेले आहात त्या नात्याची किंमत मोजायला लावेल (हळूहळू ते नष्ट करते) — आणि ज्याकडे तुम्ही जायचं नाटक करताय त्याचं नातंही देणार नाही (कारण तुम्ही खरंच गेलेच नाही). परिणाम — दोन्हीकडून तोटा.
निदान सोपं आहे: जोंवरी या तुम्हां मागिलांची आस — तोंवरी उदास होऊं नका — जोपर्यंत मागच्या गोष्टींची आस आहे, तोपर्यंत अलिप्ततेचा देखावा करू नका. आधीच्या जीवनाची ओढ असेल, तर अलिप्ततेचा pose घेऊ नका. प्रामाणिकपणे ओढ कबूल करा. प्रामाणिक जोडलेलं असणं हे ढोंगी अलिप्ततेपेक्षा बरं — कारण किमान खरं नातं ओढ नैसर्गिकपणे विरघळेपर्यंत टिकतं. ढोंगी अलिप्तता सगळंच नष्ट करते.
तुकाराम वाट चालू नकोस असं म्हणत नाहीयेत. ते म्हणतायत — खोटा देखावा करू नकोस. ०००७-००१० ची किंमत भरायची तयारी अजून नसेल, तर प्रामाणिकपणे जिथे आहात तिथे राहा. वाट केव्हाही उघडी आहे — ज्या क्षणी ओढ खरोखर बदलेल त्या क्षणी; तोपर्यंत कामगिरी ही "मार्गावर-न-चालण्या"पेक्षा वाईट.
Where this applies
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When you've been performing renunciation publicly while privately still attached. Tukaram's diagnostic: are you still longing for what you've claimed to leave? If yes, the performance is destroying both the relationship to it and the path you're claiming to be on. Stop performing. Stay honest about the longing.
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When a friend is imitating your spiritual or life choice and you can see they are still attached. Use Tukaram's words: don't dance our dance yet. Wait until the longing has genuinely moved. The performance now is worse than the not-doing-it.
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When you yourself notice you are doing the outer form of detachment while still doing the inner work of attachment. The honest move is to drop the form and stay with the attachment until it resolves on its own time. Posed-detachment delays the real-detachment; it doesn't substitute for it.