Abhanga 267
Tukaram offers three honest pictures of separation and longing. A daughter leaving for her husband's home walks forward but keeps looking back at her parents' house — she doesn't pretend the ache is gone, and she doesn't refuse to move ahead either; both the going and the longing are true at once. He asks God the plain, vulnerable question straight out — when will we meet, Keshava? — instead of dressing the longing up in spiritual language and hiding it. A child who has lost sight of its mother in a crowd sobs openly and keeps searching every face, and that raw searching is simply what loss looks like in the body. Deepest of all is the image of a fish thrown out of water, thrashing and gasping — because for Tukaram, God is as necessary as water itself, and life without him is exactly that kind of desperate struggle, not something to tidy up or make presentable.
The verse
कन्या सासुर्यासि जाये । मागें परतोनी पाहे ॥१॥ तैसें जालें माझ्या जिवा । केव्हां भेटसी केशवा ॥ध्रु.॥ चुकलिया माये । बाळ हुरू हुरू पाहे ॥२॥ जीवना वेगळी मासोळी । तुका म्हणे तळमळी ॥३॥
Literal translation
The daughter goes to the in-laws — looks back. Such has become my jīva — when, Keshava, will you meet me? (When the child has) missed the mother — the child sobs and looks (around). The fish separated from water — Tuka says — flounders.
मराठी: कन्या सासुर्यासि जाये — मागें परतोनी पाहे. तैसें जालें माझ्या जिवा — केव्हां भेटसी केशवा. चुकलिया माये — बाळ हुरू हुरू पाहे. जीवना वेगळी मासोळी — तुकाराम म्हणतात — तळमळी.
Word-by-word gloss
| Marathi | Meaning |
|---|---|
| कन्या सासुर्यासि जाये | "the kanyā (daughter) goes to the sāsuryā (in-laws)" |
| मागें परतोनी पाहे | "looks back (towards her natal home)" |
| तैसें जालें माझ्या जिवा | "such has become my jīva" |
| केव्हां भेटसी केशवा | "when will you meet (me), Keshava?" |
| चुकलिया माये | "(when the child has) missed / lost the māye (mother)" |
| बाळ हुरू हुरू पाहे | "the bāḷa (child) huru-huru (sob-sob, wail-wail) looks (around)" |
| जीवना वेगळी मासोळी | "the māsōḷī (fish) separated from jīvana (water / life-giving-water)" |
| तुका म्हणे तळमळी | "Tuka says: flounders / writhes" |
What it means
A viraha-bhāva abhang — three concrete-images of separation-longing:
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कन्या सासुर्यासि जाये — मागें परतोनी पाहे — the daughter goes to the in-laws — looks back. The Marathi cultural-image of the daughter leaving for her in-laws' house (a one-way departure in the traditional context). She looks back — toward her natal home — with longing. The gait-forward + glance-back is the bittersweet-departure image. Tukaram's jīva is like the daughter's: moving forward in life-and-time, but glancing-back-with-longing for the deity.
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केव्हां भेटसी केशवा — when will you meet (me), Keshava? The direct-question to the deity. Keshava — Krishna's epithet (one with beautiful long hair; or one who killed Keshī). The question is honest, vulnerable: when?
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चुकलिया माये — बाळ हुरू हुरू पाहे — (when the child has) missed the mother — the child sobs and looks. The child-lost-from-mother image. Hurū-hurū — the sobbing-shudder of small breaths — the body-grief of the lost child. The child looks around (pāhē) — searching, scanning, hoping-for-the-mother.
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जीवना वेगळी मासोळी — तळमळी — the fish separated from water — flounders. The deepest-image. Jīvana in Marathi means both water and life; the fish out of water has lost both water and life. The fish flounders (taḷamaḷī — writhes, struggles, gasps) — the body-distress of the fish-without-water is the bhakta's state without the deity.
[T]
For someone today
Tukaram offers three honest pictures of separation and longing. A daughter leaving for her husband's home walks forward but keeps looking back at her parents' house — she doesn't pretend the ache is gone, and she doesn't refuse to move ahead either; both the going and the longing are true at once. He asks God the plain, vulnerable question straight out — when will we meet, Keshava? — instead of dressing the longing up in spiritual language and hiding it. A child who has lost sight of its mother in a crowd sobs openly and keeps searching every face, and that raw searching is simply what loss looks like in the body. Deepest of all is the image of a fish thrown out of water, thrashing and gasping — because for Tukaram, God is as necessary as water itself, and life without him is exactly that kind of desperate struggle, not something to tidy up or make presentable.
मराठी: तुकाराम विरह-ओढीची तीन प्रामाणिक चित्रे उभी करतात. सासरी जाणारी मुलगी पुढे चालत राहते, पण मागे वळून माहेराकडे पाहतही राहते — ती वेदना नाहीशी झाल्याचे भासवत नाही, आणि पुढे जाण्यास नकारही देत नाही; चालणे आणि ओढ दोन्ही एकाच वेळी खरे असतात. देवाला ते थेट, हळवा प्रश्न विचारतात — केशवा, कधी भेटशील? — ओढ अध्यात्मिक शब्दांत झाकून ठेवण्याऐवजी. गर्दीत आईपासून हरवलेले बाळ उघडपणे रडते आणि प्रत्येक चेहऱ्यात आईला शोधत राहते, आणि हा उघडा शोध म्हणजेच शरीरातून व्यक्त होणारा विरह असतो. सर्वांत खोल प्रतिमा म्हणजे पाण्याबाहेर काढलेला मासा, तडफडणारा, धापा टाकणारा — कारण तुकारामांसाठी देव हा पाण्याइतकाच अपरिहार्य आहे, आणि त्याच्याविना जगणे म्हणजे तशीच केविलवाणी तडफड आहे, ती नीटनेटकी करून दाखवण्याची गोष्ट नाही.
Where this applies
- Daughter-glances-back-leaving. Forward + longing.
- Direct when? question is honest. Don't spiritualize.
- Child sobs and looks. Body-form of loss.
- Fish flounders out of water. Deepest viraha.