Raksha  Bandhan by P. Shesadri is a fine poem full of sisterly affection, bonding and sympathy. Those who have sisters can feel it and those who have not too may feel the void differently. Even if somebody ties the band on the wrist, it gives immense pleasure to feel it within. It is a matter of bonding and sympathy. It is a matter of love, pure love.

How innocent is this love? How purer is this bonding between brother and sister? The day is one of sisterly bonding. If you do not have a sister, you may have to repent. Raksha Bandhan reminds us of the binding which obliges us to defend and safeguard  during her troubled days. Forget you not your sister. Try to remember her even though  far from her. After all, she is your sister. The day is momentous, sacred and sacrosanct indeed.

Raksha Bandhan, the binding of the thread, obligatory enough on the part of the brother to see and look after her, if something may befall her, the ceremony reminds of that if you want to mean it the undercoat of meaning. Never break you a sister’s heart. Try to feel it sometimes. Always help her if she is in distress.

A piece of silken tassel tipped with gold tied round the wrist of the brother by the loving sister forms the crux and the basis of the poem under our discussion. Raksha Bandhan which falls in the month of Sravan with the rains drizzling has a charm of its own. This is not new, but has been coming from age to age. The rakhi is a symbol of love and joy.

Who can but negate it? Ritualistic excesses may foil the so-called piety of man. What is  more important is piety, purity of heart, there should be love and reverence in our heart. There is no religion greater than sacred feeling. The sacrosanct heart is the centre of all. If the heart is pure then everything is pure.

A piece of silken tassel tipped with gold,
Tied round the wrist by loving sister’s hands,
A sacred day in Sravan, when the lands
Are bathed in welcome rain, is said to hold
A potent charm for good. From days of old
This pretty faith has come and happy bands
Of brothers still pay heed to its commands

One day each year. Who will be rashly bold
And flout this festival as void of worth,
An ancient mummery — to which man shows
His slavish piety?  Let him, who knows
Of beings more devoted than the fair,
Of wishes purer than a sister’s care,
And stronger powers than woman’s love on earth.

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