The dance as winnowing, the impure cast out
Original Marathi from the Tukaram Gatha · About Sant Tukaram
मराठी मूळ
कुसरी अंगें मोडितील परी । मेळविति एका छंदें रे ॥१॥
कांहींच न वजे वांयां रे । खेळिया एक चि बसवंत अवघियां रे ।
सम विषम तेथें होऊं च नेदी । जाणऊनि आगळिया रे ॥ध्रु.॥
संत महंत सद्धि खेळतील घाई । ते च सांभाळी माझ्या भाई रे ।
हात राखोन हाणिती टिपर्या । टिपरें मिळोनि जाय त्याची सोई रे ॥२॥
विताळाचें अवघें जाईल वांयां । काय ते शृंगारूनि काया रे ।
निवडूनि बाहेर काढिती निराळा । जो न मिळे संताचिया घाई रे ॥३॥
प्रकाराचें काज नाहीं सोडीं लाज । निःशंक होउनियां खेळें रे ।
नेणतीं नेणतीं च एकें पावलीं मान । विठ्ठल नामाचिया बळें रे ॥४॥
रोमांच गुढिया डोलविती अंगें । भावबळें खेळविती सोंगें रे।
तुका म्हणे कंठ सद्गदित दाटे । या विठोबाच्या अंगसंगें रे ॥५॥
Tukaram Gatha (Marathi Wikisource)
English Translation
With skillful twists of the body they move in every fashion, yet they bring all together in one single rhythm. Nothing at all goes to waste; there is one champion for everyone. Where there is one who knows the art, no unevenness is allowed; balance is maintained throughout. The saints and the great ones play their round in one shared stroke; guard that same stroke, O my brother. They strike the clappers with controlled hands, and the clappers meet in perfect unison. All that is impure will be cast away; what is the use of decorating the body if the inside is rotten? The one who does not join the saints' round is singled out and removed. There is no need for ceremony; cast off shame and play with utter freedom. Even the ignorant, through nothing but innocence, have earned great honor by the power of Vitthal's name. Goosebumps rise like festival pennants on their bodies, and they sway with the force of pure devotion. Says Tuka, the throat chokes with emotion in the company of Vithoba.
We ask forgiveness for any inaccuracies in rendering Tukaram ji’s original Marathi.
In Plain Words
With skillful turns they bend their bodies every way, yet they bring it all together in one rhythm. Nothing is wasted; there is one champion for everyone. Where someone knows the art, no unevenness is allowed; he keeps it balanced, knowing more than the rest. The saints and the great ones play their round in one shared stroke; guard that same stroke, my brother. They strike the clappers with controlled hands, and the clappers meet in unison. All that is impure will fall away; what use is it to decorate the body? The one who does not join the saints' round is picked out and set aside. There is no need for ceremony; drop your shame and play freely. Even the ignorant, by sheer innocence, have won honor through the power of Vitthal's name. Goosebumps rise like festival flags on their bodies; they sway with the force of devotion. Tuka says: the throat chokes with feeling in the company of Vithoba.
What it means
Tukaram presses the dance image further, into a winnowing. In the saints' shared round every move is brought into one rhythm and nothing is wasted, but the same gathering that includes also sorts: whoever cannot fall into step with the saints is quietly singled out and removed. He names what does not survive this test, outward show and a decorated body over a rotten inside, and what does, the artless innocence of the ignorant who simply trust the Name. The instruction to drop shame and play freely is the door in; pretension is the thing kept out. The closing image of goosebumps and a choked throat shows the only credential that counts here is genuine feeling in God's company.
Devotion to Vitthal
Poems of praise, invocation, and intimate address to Lord Vitthal at Pandharpur.
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