Two Poems of Siddalingaiah:A Kannada Poet who lead thousands of hidden rivers
SIDDALINGIAH / SIDDALINGAYYA / ಸಿದ್ದಲಿಂಗಯ್ಯ ( in Kannada language ) , ( 1954 ), Professor of Kannada in Bangalore University ,Karnataka,India , is a major poet in Kannada literature , who pioneered the Dalith voice in 1975.’Dalith’ is a cultural term denoting the oppressed class which was treated as untouchable by the so called upper castes in India.The administrative term used now for such a class in India is ‘Scheduled caste ‘. Mahatma Gandhi coined the term ‘Harijan’.In Kannada language, many synonyms are used for various sub sects of this class ,like, Holeya .Madiga and so.The trend setting work on Dalith literature in Kannada is ‘Holemaadigana Haadu’ ( 1975 ) ,a collection of poems by Siddalingiah .He uses the native term ‘Holemaadiga’ to give the indigenous Dalith identity for this exploited class.
The influence of the poems of Siddalingiah paved the main path for Dalith movement in Karnataka and also revolutionary organisations to consolidate.He worked on ‘Village Goddesses ‘ for his doctoral dissertation.His autobiography ‘OoruKeri’ is translated into English and also many of his poems are translated to various Indian and other languages.
I have been teaching the poem ‘Thousands of Rivers’ of Siddalingiah in my classes of Kannada literature here in the Department of Indology ,University of Wurzburg since last two years.My German students have shown much interest in understanding modern India through such hidden,vibrant and much different voices .
Here are the English translations of two Kannada poems of Dr.Siddalingiah.
Source Book :A STRING OF PEARLS
Editors:H.S.Shivaprakash and K.S.Radhakrishna
Publisher: Karnataka Sahitya Academy ,Bangalore ,Karnataka,India .1990
Translators : Poem ‘ My people ‘ by K.NARASIMHA MURTHY
Poem ‘Thousands of Rivers’ by P.RAMA MURTHY
MY PEOPLE
Who die of starvation ,who are kicked till they faint,
Who cringe before others ,reaching out to hands and feet
Who keep their hands folded,devotees of those above them ,
These,these are my people.
Who plough ,sow and harvest ,sweating in the sun
Who take rest sighing heavily with fatigue
Who go about empty-handed ,getting little to eat or wear,
These,these are my people.
Who carry dressed stone,raised roofs,build bungalows,
And get crushed for their pains under the debris
Who, fallen by the wayside,voiceless ,weep within themselves,
These ,these are my people.
Who ,treated to fiery speeches ,are scorched and burnt to ashes,
Who, for those who feast on sweets with God’s name on their lips,
Stitch sandals and shoes ,these victims of usurers ,
These ,these are my people.
Who excavate gold but go without food,
Who weave fine fabrics, but go themselves bare ,
Who do what they are told,who subsist on mere air,
These ,these are my people.
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THOUSANDS OF RIVERS
But yesterday ,
they came like a mountain ,
my people.
They arrived in hordes
my men,
yesterday!
Black faces bearded with silver
burning eyes red with rage
burst through the blankets of sleep
breaking the barriers of day
breaching the bounds of night.
Earth heaved in the mountains of my men
and quaked to their dance of rage
and those who crawled in lines of ants
rose in paws of jungle beasts
and those who crept like reptiles
rose in cobra hoods.
They rose , my men, in mountains
shouting the red song
Down ,down inequality
Down Caste Hierarchy
Down the bug that fattens on money .
Ah, they flooded and flowed in rivers,
my people ,yesterday!
The town and village they inundated
they plunged to depths of unknown roots
they floated to heights of unseen stars.
See how by the bushes and under the trees
in the streets and in the alleys
they gather in hordes,
my people,
flushing down the ranks of Headman’s power
and the files of Money-lenders away.
These shout a shriek of defiance
those are struck dumb,
these thunder from angry throats
those fall silent.
Ah, the winds of Revolution,
my people,
have seized the throats of those cut-throats.
See how in the whirlwind
twist the police batons
and knives of secret agents .
See how the twigs and dry leaves
spin the debris of Vedas,
of Puranas and Shastras .
See how the dirt of ammunition
and hardware of gunmen
whirl in the whirlwind
of Revolution!
Ah, my people
how they flooded in thousands of rivers
to swell the Revolutionary Sea.
ಬಿ ಎ ವಿವೇಕ ರೈ 
Thank you for such useful information…
Ravi
ಸೆಪ್ಟೆಂಬರ್ 18, 2012
wow what an imagination i love it for kannadigas and karnataka
harishankar
ನವೆಂಬರ್ 1, 2013