Siva is one of the longer poems composed by Sir A.C. Lyall (1835-1911) who was not only a British civil servant, but a historian and a poet. He joined the ICS in 1856 and served in different administrative capacities. His understanding and knowledge of India is extraordinary. During the Mutiny, he had had a narrow escape and somehow, he was able to save his life. There is no doubt in it that he was a learned man who evinced an interest in Indian studies pertaining to its art, society, life, culture and history.

To discuss Lyall as a poet is to talk of his book, Verses Written in India, published by K. Paul, Trench & Co, London in 1889. Though not so successful, he attempted to present the state of affairs and his rudimentary thoughts and ideas. But he tried to understand India. There is no doubt about it. When he explains social evils, his explanation deserves praise from us as for what ailed our society and what was prevalent.

Sir Alfred Comyn Lyall. startles us in giving a poem on Siva reminding us of Emerson’s Brahma, one from the Holy Trinity of Brahma, Vishnu, Maheshwara. Here the poet has spoken his words through the Divine, and the Lord seems to be the speaker of the poem. To make the words say through his mouth is really remarkable.

The voice of Siva is the matter of elucidation here in this poem. Rudra-rupa is the thing of concern.

I am Siva, Siva, the God of sensuous fire that molds and transforms all Nature in the divine forms. I am the god of death, doom and destruction and in them lies it myth of recreation.

Death and desire are his, we mean the springs of change. You may see through iconography and iconoclasm. The things I create, the same things destroy I. I am the symbol of death; I am desire born in man. With me, the spur in man and his mind. It is desire that I have created it, it is lust that I have.

Lyall feels about the Shiva-shakti and Shiva-mahima here in this poem. The power of Siva, the glory of Siva, what to say it about? Siva who is a yogi, a sadhu and a fakira? Where will he wander and loiter about? Where is his abode?

Siva is Siva, all-powerful, omnipresent and omniscient. He is some force mystical and tremendous. For him the times change, the seasons change. He is the cause of one’s origin and death.

What is permanent and perennial? How the creeds of yours, how are your sects taking? Nothing will live here.

Man’s life is nothing. Everything is but hallucinatory, illusory. Life is transitory, life is transient. What you see today will not remain tomorrow.

As you have tried to know, so shall I reveal to you. Siva has been forever. He is that force whose origin and end man cannot know it.

There is nothing that he wants. He does not require anything. You cannot know the mysteries of the world.

The holy river flows from the snowy ranges to mingle with the sea, crossing by my shrine. My purpose, you cannot, my plan, you cannot know it. I am beyond you, beyond the comprehension of human mind.

What Siva is the poet describing it here, the Rudra-rupa or the Soumya-rupa? Perhaps traversing the Prakriti-Purusha motif. Maybe it is the penetration of Shiva-tandava stotram of Tandava-nritya. Natraja Siva is not the point of his poetic deliberation. Maheshwara, Nageshwara not, but Bhairava-like image he is traversing. The poem is awe-inspiring. Had it been a picture of serene Siva, it would have been good. Here the awesome, dreadful picture has been shown.

Siva
"Mors Janua Vita."

I.
I AM the God of the sensuous fire
That moulds all Nature in forms divine;
The symbols of death and of man's desire,
The springs of change in the world, are mine;
The organs of birth and the circlet of bones,
And the light loves carved on the temple stones.

2.
I am the lord of delights and pain,
Of the pest that killeth, of fruitful joys;
I rule the currents of heart and vein;
A touch gives passion, a look destroys;
In the heat and cold of my lightest breath
Is the might incarnate of Lust and Death.

3.
If a thousand altars stream with blood
Of the victims slain by the chanting priest,
Is a great God lured by the savoury food?
I reck not of worship, or song, or feast;
But that millions perish, each hour that flies,
Is the mystic sign of my sacrifice.

The vast multitudes of people that you see are doomed to perish, all those who have got their birth will die it. The soul stays it never. All life is a play with power. Just like the dew drops they get wiped.

4.
Ye may plead and pray for the millions born;
They come like dew on the morning grass;
Your vows and vigils I hold in scorn,
The soul stays never, the stages pass;
All life is the play of the power that stirs
In the dance of my wanton worshippers.

5.
And the strong swift river my shrine below
It runs, like man, its unending course
To the boundless sea from eternal snow;
Mine is the Fountain — and mine the Force
That spurs all nature to ceaseless strife;
And my image is Death at the gates of Life.

He is death, the god of death and none escape the hands of the slayer. Te tides of the sea, who comes to govern them? It is but he. He is ever present in many a shape and many a legend.

6.
In many a legend and many a shape,
In the solemn grove and the crowded street,
I am the Slayer, whom none escape;
I am Death trod under a fair girl's feet;
I govern the tides of the sentient sea
That ebbs and flows to eternity.

7.
And the sum of the thought and the knowledge of man
Is the secret tale that my emblems tell;
Do ye seek God's purpose, or trace his plan?
Ye may read your doom in my parable:
For the circle of life in its flower and its fall
Is the writing that runs on my temple wall.

8.
O Race that labours, and seeks, and strives,
With thy Faith, thy wisdom, thy hopes and fears,
Where now is the Future of myriad lives?
Where now is the Creed of a thousand years?
Far as the Western spirit may range,
It finds but the travail of endless change;

9.
For the earth is fashioned by countless suns,
And planets wander, and stars are lost.
As the rolling flood of existence runs
From light to shadow, from fire to frost
Your search is ended, ye hold the keys
Of my inmost ancient mysteries.

10.
Now that your hands have lifted the veil,
And the crowd may know what my symbols mean.
Will not the faces of men turn pale
At the sentence heard, and the vision seen
Of strife and sleep, of the soul's brief hour,
And the careless tread of unyielding-Power?

11.
Though the world repent of its cruel youth.
And in age grow soft, and its hard law bend.
Ye may spare or slaughter; by rage or truth
All forms speed on to the far still end ;
For the gods who have mercy, who save or bless.
Are the visions of man in his hopelessness.

12.
Let my temples fall, they are dark with age,
Let my idols break, they have stood their day;
On their deep hewn stones the primeval sage
Has figured the spells that endure away;
My presence may vanish from river and grove,
But I rule for ever in Death and Love.

Let his temples fall, dark with age. Let his idols break bearing the brunt of time. His presence may vanish from the river and the grove, but he is ever found ruling Death and Love. The myth of Siva can never be busted.