Plaidoirie for a "Prince" of
“We learn from history that we
learn nothing from history.”
George Bernard Shaw (1856-1950) Nobel Prize
by T. Wignesan
Blue blood gushes when
heroes die
From gory wounds on
battlefields
Not in castle intrigues when
for a lie
Crowns use commoners as
shields.
A royal house does not
construct itself
After centuries have broken
tradition
Or on formal rules on how to
name itself
Nor on who should follow in
succession.
A true prince re-possesses
the land first
Takes for his witnesses
native-born citizens
Bids them follow his will
out of dire thirst
Not as the self-crowned
leader of denizens.
To
be born a Kshastriya is not a privilege,
The birthright is even an act of
sacrilege
If
he who dons the crown scorns the people;
A spurned poem in the
culled florilege.
In
the blown sliver of land at Great Bharat’s feet
No one knows what Tamil line came to
greet
Found
refuge and took throne to announce a reign
Nor helas
to make much of a glorious feat.
Kings
are not born to hoist the castial banner,
Rather had they earlier scaled the social
ladder
Through
heroic deeds by protecting the masses;
Chieftains peer-elected
to top the social order.
A
Prince may not bring dishonour to his kingdom
In times of strive for the sake of
Christendom;
If
he seeks spurious honours to feather his nest
And alienates a people
who die for freedom.
A
King is he who in high danger opts for sacrifice
Like Kattabomman
seeking no excuse nor artifice
Met
the East India Company’s Collector all alone
And fought his valiant
way through gunfire malice.
The
history of Tamil kingdoms in all ages gone by
Teaches us the same lesson made
proverbial by
An
Ettappan who in his insatiable envy of grandeur
Caused the ultimate
Tamil Prince to hang high.
We
live in a world where politicians are the real Princes
Who wear no crowns but their
ministerial pince-nez;
Yet
other captains struggle against such fait
accompli
And in jungles forge a human bulwark
of chances.
It’s
not the cherry on the icing that makes a cake
If underneath the slender icing over a
lake
Wild
worms bore at the crust raised in protection,
Won’t people then take a Kshastriya for a fake.
If
you want to be king then let your voice be true
Renounce
all wish to be ordained a true blue;
Let
the people choose what they want for a crown
If they need you, will they not call upon you.
Uneasy
the head which wears the realm’s crown
While the people fret and fume and
frown;
See
how caretaker John usurps the Lion-Heart’s throne:
Uneasier the
head become the butt of a clown.
Lay aside all thought of
fame
In the quest for a feudal
name;
He who assumes an ancient
title
Must prove worthy of the
same.
© T.Wignesan
March 2006 –
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