Upon The Deathbed Poem by Swatantryaveer Savarkar

Come, O Death, come! Having set forth
To get me, gladly come you may!
Let these flowers fear to wither and die,
Let these juicy grapes dread to shrivel and die,
But me! Why pray should I fear you?

Sip and sip did I from the Cup of Life,
Yet it is finished not today,
The Wine of Tears but remains.
Come, hungry as you are for this oblation,
Though the day is still so young,

Big or small, as be the deeds of the day
Accomplished they mostly are.
Compromise it took to pay off those debts
Acquired from birth; the Debt of the Sages
I paid by sometimes imbibing the Sacred Water
That washed the feet of Shruti, the Mother Vedas,
And sometimes by following the path of various Saints
And also by practicing penance of hopes for an age
These crematory austerities being for the Debt of Gods—
Sounding the War Trumpet, pounding the drums forcefully,
Swift and sudden was the frontal attack
The instant the first battle order Shri Ram issued
And in that Sacrificial War, an inferno was set ablaze
Bone and bone, flesh and flesh fuel to it became—
Just so too, reduced to ashes is my youth! And so,
To discharge the debt I owe to my Ancestors,
Abiding with the Scriptures of Adoption,
That I may not die without an heir, all these sons
Of Abhinav Bharat I take to be as my own! Wherever
The Lotus-eyed One blooms in a crib,
There I am marveling the wonder of creation.

Whither fresh talent, strong character mark these brows,
Thither, new brilliance rises again and again!
In my bosom arise also
Fresh hopes and high aspirations—for the future
Glory of our Lineage, not just that of India,
But for the glory of humanity!
In this very youth of all humanity,
Shall I relive my own youth

And so shall my ancestors
To whom I lovingly offer oblations!
Come, O Death, gladly come then—
Such are the debts, paid off one way or another,
And most are likely accomplished.

There are deeds of the day: even though
For when the day dawns, when it shall set,
What are the duties, what the deeds,
Many are the opinions given by
Various tomes, priests, and scholars—
For uniting people, for the Essence
Of the welfare of humanity,
Deeds that the Noble Ones found to be fitting,
Only such deeds did I consider to be righteous,
Accordingly is ordained a burden to each one
And joyously have I borne mine
Ability and circumstance notwithstanding,
Ever true to my Oath have I been
Untainted by the slightest trace of fear.

Of noble family my parents were,
With faultless figures, and ever so kind of heart.
My elder brother, foremost amongst the Yogis,
Raised me so honorably, with such loving care;
My younger brother, Epitome of Modesty he is;
Unparalleled is this love; blessed am I
And that glorious goal, that gives to human life
Significance, that renders poetic my lifespan,
That sanctifies my character;
Some penance, some chanting—
With a measure of success, some shining
In Sharda's Court with Gems among poets.

Savored many a juice of fruits; breathed in
Hundreds of fragrances wafting with the breezes
Over hundreds of lands and waters,
The heat of the raging five fires,
To love's sweet, soft embrace—Cool, hot, sultry—
All experienced like the encircling of a belt;
Heard hundreds of tunes and languages,
Hundreds of songs, new and newer,
From hundreds of melodious throats,
And Death's terrible roars from a very harsh throat.
Many people, villages, all kinds of countries,
So many sights seen,
Meandering the Museum of this Earth;
So beautiful, so distinctive, so entertaining,
Such sights seen with the eyes—
O Death! Gladly close these eyes you may!

If you deem it necessary to close so!
For I have seen beauty—a little perhaps!
Love for but a moment, a separation for eternity!
That which seasoned stalwarts cannot endure,
Those very yokes in the sweltering sun,
Such I endured in my youth!

So still unfulfilled in this life of mine
Is desire to frolic in the starlight—
But knowing: slaked not were the yearnings
Of Yayati—no, not e'en a lifetime of fun
Did satisfy the king. And seeing:
Deeds of Desire bear Fruit of Enjoyment,
And lo! —more seeds of desire flow;
Also, experiencing: an appetite
Is as replete by a single meal
As by the thousandth such meal—
Same, exactly the same;
O Death! I give you leave to end
The script of my life here.
The pages to come were perhaps to be
But a repetition of the pages past!

Squandered not I even a moment of my life,
So the day's end brings no sorrow to me.
Mortals do so fear the death on the morrow!
But even in the darkness, a new flower blooms
To a creeper for the next day.
Fear not I, for what we sow here today
That is what blooms and bears fruit, so they say.

And with hardship did I sow such seeds
Exquisite, chosen, given to me to sow
Without expectation of fruit, saying to me
"As you behave, others shall in wartime, adversity;
Behave that no harm shall be brought
Upon the Progress of Humanity."
That behavior I always aspired to from childhood,
"Behave unto others as you wish them
To behave toward you, " say the saints.
I took trouble to follow this every moment,
Even in distress it served me well—
Just that dharma itself offered calamities to me!

Whenever I pace in the narrow prison-yard
Upon the cool, green carpet of grass, then
Absorbed in introspection my mind froze,
Suddenly legs turned to pillars—unmoving!
The fear that the next step shall
Crush the young, tender grass sprouts
Stayed my feet in their spot.
At times, the morsel in my hand
Make it not to my mouth.
These grains I hold are they not seeds?
Does not eating the fruits abort the embryos?
Sometimes, when such forebodings were mine,
How I feared that I was losing my mind!

My mind, following me at every step,
Is awake to the profound grief in this world.
To conquer this totally is perhaps impossible,
Effort I did make; ‘p'haps powerless or
Unaware my feet may have stumbled,
But fear not I today the unknown
In the alien territory of the crematory,

To ease such travel in this land,
A letter of introduction I have from
Lord Krishna himself—to the rich,
The pure, and the house of yogis.
One of noble deeds never attains
Misfortune in his rebirth, so say
The learned rishis to me;
If one believes there is truth in that,
Heaven, hell, rebirth, captivity, or moksha
All are but the consequence of one's deeds.
So where the Door of Death shall open,
In that unseen City of Beauty,
The house is reserved for us
Pre-determined by the down payment
Paid by our many deeds and duties.

If we believe heaven, soul, fetters, or fate
Are but a figment of our imagination,
And the Soul only an illusion created post-death,
Then death by that analysis is non-existent.
Wonderful! Death is just a deep sleep
Or mukti itself! The five such elements
That were combined with release
Wander at will bonded anew,
Or as themselves, or as nothing!
Just like the momentary glory of the rainbow,
The "I" in me has a moment of glory
In the Sky of Consciousness, though
Fated to set in the Universe unknown.

So, Death! End you are not! —only a release!
That in moments! Only request is,
If on your way you are, delay not!
Your notoriety in this world, hatred you are held in
It is not because you are cruel or condemnable—
No one ever returned after seeing you
That they could give a report!
Especially, O Death! You gain unpopularity
In this world, by the army preceding you—
That hideous menace of cruel diseases!

Not just I, but even one with no enemy in the world,
Has his share of love and hate, loss and gain.
Gautama Buddha himself realized disease is hateful.
"No gain like good health in this world, " says the Dharmapad.
Even so for those who will not welcome you willingly,
Or the stubborn ones who conquer the battles of life, Troublesome Armies of Disease you send to them!

Break my unwilling doors, taken from my house
I shall be only when I open the doors myself—
Your welcome here is incontrovertibly proven,
So it is feasible for you to come,
O Conqueror of All Heroes!

Alone, without surprise, not leading your army,
If impossible it is for you to come so—
No matter, I am prepared the past two years
To withstand the wrath of your pitiless Army of Disease!
You must certainly have seen me thus,
Lying on the bed of arrows! He who found in life
Sweetness of honey in life, light to brighten the eyes,
and love for the heart—that is me!
As a price for all that happiness,
I am prepared to endure the torments of death,
As a duty to be borne!

[This is a translation by Anurupa Cinar, Savarkar's original, "Marnonmukh Shaiyyewar, ' is in Marathi.]