Mrudu bhaavo ke anguro ki aaj bana laaya haala priyatam, apne haatho se aaj pilaaonga pyaala ; pehle bhog

laga loo tujhko fir prasad jag paayega sabase pehle tera swagat karti meri madhushala The author here welcomes the reader to his book by telling him/her that he has made this wine(book) with great care and love just for him/her and that he will himself offer this wine. Pyaas tujhe to, vishv tapaakar poorn nikaalonga haala, ek paanv se saaki bankar naachunga lekar pyaala jeevan ki madhuta to tere upar kab ka vaar chuka aaj nyochavar kar doonga mai tujh par jag ki madhushaala The poet here again is telling the reader that he will go to any extents, like boiling this world to make wine or dance on one leg with an empty cup, to make this collection of Madhushala pleasing to the reader Priyatam, tu meri haala hai, mai tera pyaasa pyaala, apne ko mujhme bharkar tubanta hai peenevaala; mai tujhko chak chalka karta mast mujhe pee tu hota ek doosre ko ham dono aaj paraspar madhushala The poet says that the reader is the wine and he himself is the cup and by filling the cup , the reader will become an alcoholic . Also by having the reader(wine), the author (cup) is brimming with joy and that the book(Madhushala) is incomplete without the author and the reader Bhavukta angur latha se kheench kalpana ki haala kavi saaki bankar aaya hai bharkar kavita ka pyaala kabhi na kan bhar khaali hoga

lakh piye do laakh piye paathak gan hai peene vaali pusthak meri madhushala The authors asks the reader to let his imaginations run wild,as if u r drunk while reading this book. The author says he is the wine-bearer and he is passing on his poetry(winefilled cup) in this Madhushala (world). The author here is praising himself by saying that even if u have(read) this wine(poetry) million times it will not go empty (with meaning). He finally reveals that this book is the Madhushala and the readers are the drinkers. Madhur bhaavnaaon ki su-madhuar nitya banaata hoon haala bharta hoon is madhu se apne antar ka pyaasa pyaala utha kalpana ke haatho se svayam use pee jaata hoon apne hee mein hoon mai saaki, peene vaala , Madhushala The author says that he has been making wine(poetry) of all the nice feelings and experiences of his life. He has been filling his inner self with this wine and has been consuming it through his imaginations. The authors declares that he himself is the winebearer, drinker and the Madhushala

Notes
When the book was first published in 1935, Harivansh Rai Bachchan found himself famous overnight. Since then the original Hindi version has been translated into English, Marathi, Bengali and Malayalam. It has been set to music and choreographed and performed by celebrated Indian dancers. The full poem contains 135 verses. [ ed: The 20 translated above are from the popular musical rendition of the poem by Manna Dey and Bachchan Sr. himself. ] The poem shows traces of the Persian Sufi style and is patterned, to some extent, on the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam. Bachchan, who has translated the Rubaiyat into Hindi, has acknowledged the Persian influence in his work and indeed it is this aspect of his poetry that sets it apart form the work of the major Hindi poets of our time. The range of the 135 verses of Madhushala is wide: wine and the tavern or wine-house serve as the basic metaphors in the poem and symbolise the fillness and intoxication of life as well as its pain and frustration. Love, Beauty, Pain, Sorrow, Death --- all of these and more are woven into the rich texture

of the poem. Madhushala embodies the entire philosophy of Bachchan: the passionate yearning of the soul for beauty ending only in frustration, the pathetic scarcity and transience of beauty in the world, the agony of disillusionment, the inevitability of death and a stoic acceptance of fatalism as the only armour for the soul -- these are the themes of not only Madhushalabut of all of Bachchan's poetry.

Seeking wine, the drinker leaves home for the tavern. Perplexed, he asks, Which path will take me there? People show him different ways, but this is what I have to say, Pick a path and keep walking. You will find the tavern. Hark! The wine gurgles and splashes as it falls from the goblet. Hark! It sounds like the tinkling of bells on the feet of an intoxicated girl. We have reached there, a few steps are we from the tavern, Hark! Hear the laughter of the drinkers, as the fragrance of the tavern wafts through the air. Call it not lava, though it flows red, like a tongue of flame. Call it not the blistered heart, for it is only foaming wine. Lost memories serve the wine, that intoxicates with pain. If you find happiness in suffering, come to my tavern. He who has burnt all scriptures with his inner fire, Has broken temples, mosques and churches with carefree abandon, And has cut the nooses of pandits, mullahs and priests Only he is welcome in my tavern. Alas, he that with eager lips, has not kissed this wine, Alas, he that trembling with joy, has not touched a brimming goblet, He that has not drawn close the coy wine-maiden by her hand, Has wasted this honey-filled tavern of Life. My beloved wine-maiden seems a priest; her wine as pure as the Gangas waters. With unbroken pace, she rotates the rosary of wine glasses. Drink more! Drink more! she intones in prayer. I am Shiva incarnate and this tavern is my temple. Only once every year, the fires of Holi are lit. Only once is the game played and are garlands of lamps lit. But, O, those who are lost in the world, come and see the tavern any

day, The tavern celebrates a Holi, every morning and a Diwali every night. Whatever the taste on my lips, it tastes like wine. Whatever the vessel in my hands, it feels like a goblet. Every face dissolves into the features of my wine-maiden, And whatever be in front of my eyes, they fill only with visions of the tavern. Ah, Beautiful, your lovely face is like a crystal bowl, Whose precious gem is your beauty, sparkling like sweet, intoxicating wine. I am the wine-maiden and I am the guest. Where sit we together, there indeed is the tavern. A mere two days she served me but the young maiden is sulking now. She fills my goblet and passes it curtly to me. Her coquetry and charms are lost arts; All the tavern wishes now is to fulfil its obligations. Life is short. How much love can I give and how much can I drink? They say, He departs, at the very moment that he is born. While he is being welcomed, I have seen his farewell being prepared. They started closing the shutters of the tavern, as soon as they were raised. O maiden! Which burning heart has been pacified by drinking? Every drinker repeats only one chant, More! More! Seeking satisfaction, he leaves behind so many desires. Of how many such hopes is this tavern a tomb? Yama will come as the wine-maiden and bring his black wine, Drink, and know no more consciousness, O carefree one. This is the ultimate trance, the ultimate wine-maiden and the ultimate goblet. O traveller, drink judiciously, for you will never find the tavern again. Each Each Each itself Each day, O companion, spills more wine from my life. day, O fortunate one, this goblet, my body, is burnt. day, O lovely woman, this wine-maiden, my youth, distances from me. day, O beauty, this tavern, my Life, is drying up.

When from the earthen jar of my body, the wine of life is emptied, When the final wine-maiden comes with her bowl of poison, When my hand forgets the touch of the goblet, and my lips the taste of

wine, Whisper in my ears, the wine, the goblet, the tavern! Touch not my lips with tulasi, but with the goblet, when I die. Touch not my tongue with the Gangas waters, but with wine, when I die. When you bear my corpse, pallbearers, remember this! Call not the name of God, but call to the truth that is the tavern. Weep over my corpse, if you can weep tears of wine. Sigh dejectedly for me, if you are intoxicated and carefree. Bear me on your shoulders, if you stumble drunkenly along. Cremate me on that land, where there once was a tavern. Pour on my ashes, not ghee, but wine. Tie to a vine of grapes, not a waterpot, but a wine-goblet. And when, my darling, you must call guests for the ritual feast, Do this - call those who will drink and have the tavern opened for them. If anyone asks my name, say it was, The Drunkard. My work? I drank and passed the goblet to everyone. O Beloved, if they ask my caste, say only that I was mad. Say my religion worshipped goblets and then chant with your rosary, The tavern, the tavern! O son, raise not water at my final rites, but wine in your palms. And sit somewhere, having filled the Ganga with wine. If you can wet the earth somewhere, my soul will be satisfied. Offer your libations to your ancestral spirits by reading repeatedly, The tavern, the tavern.