Saraswati Prasad (English: Saraswati Prasad, born: 28 August, 1932 – died: 19 September, 2013) is a famous writer, the adopted daughter of Sumitranandan Pant and the mother of contemporary poetess Rashmi Prabha. Saraswati Prasad’s published collections are – ‘Nadi Pukare Sagar’ and ‘Ek Thi Taru’ and published works are – Kadambini, Saptahik Hindustan, Nancy.
In the words of Saraswati Prasad,
“I am the Banyan tree.. you are the new sprout.. I live by this belief.. for your sake I drink poison from the golden vessel… I have some dreams left.. which have to be fulfilled.. only after this this devotee can sleep soundly.. since childhood I have been giving words to my thoughts… poet Pant considered me his daughter… and then suggested to bring out a compilation, with the assurance that he will write the preface.. my creation “Nadi Pukare Sagar” was published.. my respected father Shri Pant could not write its preface but his unpublished poem which he had written on my arrival at Prayag.. is in this compilation which is better than the preface of the preface…”
Biography
Saw He was born in a three-storey house on a narrow street in the city. 28 August, 1932 Construction work continued on the wheel of time. Someone called her ‘Taru’ (because being the only child of her parents, she was the apple of their eyes). She was enrolled in school (Paathshala) as ‘Saraswati’ and was known as – Saru, Taru. Her mother was her best friend. She had games, toys, friends, but she could not forget ‘that’, the one who first brightened her heart – that was the circular skylight of her room. The first rays of the sun used to spread on the floor of her room through it. Putting her hand in the stream of rays and collecting the floating particles in her fist was her favorite game. This game used to create a supernatural magic in her innocent mind. Saraswati ji’s eyes used to open very early in the morning with the ‘parati’ of her grandmother who lived in the neighborhood. Her grandmother’s sequential bhajans used to instill a unique happiness in her. The melodious voice of the fakir who used to turn his face in the dark streets on the ektara-
‘The palace was built by picking up pebbles’
People say this is my home, my dear world
Neither my home nor yours, the bird has a shelter for the night
‘Sweet world…’.”
She kept sowing the seeds of some unknown thoughts in her young mind. Her mind used to wander far away following the magical voice of the fakir. Her mother and father used to become serious on some of her questions. Her childhood used to become that of a small bird, which wanted to measure the infinite expanse of the sky, unaware of its own capabilities. She used to feel that the chariot of the sun lands first on her roof. The moon showers its moonlight in her courtyard. Then while playing the game of ‘Andheriya-Anjoriya’ with her friends, she used to fill her fist with moonlight and put it in the pocket of her frock and after the game was over, she used to take out that moonlight and hide it under her mother’s mattress. When she started reading, very soon books attracted her strongly. In no time, her small cupboard got filled with other books apart from school books. Besides magazines like ‘Baalak, Chandamama, Saraswati’, she would take ‘Sukh Sagar, Prem Sagar, small edition of Ramayan’ from her mother’s prayer room and read them while sitting in solitude. Rajendra Babu He had read the autobiography of Mahatma Gandhi (a thick book) in his childhood. Opening the cupboard and looking at the books, arranging them neatly, stroking them, used to give him immense pleasure. Perhaps this was the reason or the loneliness of his house that his mind was searching for something. There was some excitement in the fabric of imagination, some unknown sadness used to roam in the small world of the small mind. Colourful in the corner of the mind butterfly Who was Taru, who raised her, searching for? – Perhaps, relationships. And this search gave wings to her imagination, she thought beyond what she saw. The locality where she lived had people of every caste and class. What was the difference between the elders and the youngers, how much it was – apart from this, she only knew how to address them as uncle, brother, uncle. Feeling the joy of having achieved something, Taru felt as if someone was saying, ‘Taru – you are the sweet tune of the bell, the fragrance of incense, the flower of worship, the idol of the temple… I will wait for you to come to my house…’ Who was saying all this? Rambaran uncle, Ramjatan uncle, Bilas brother, or Ramnagini. Taru used to get amazed and fascinated by her own voice. Who calls out ‘Maa Maa’ in empty rooms and asks questions to herself, who speaks at the same time? The curious mind came to know that it was Pratikhona. Hearing the word ‘Pratishona’ from the mouth of little Taru, her master was left speechless and kept his hand on his forehead, ‘You will make a name’. But who else except Taru had seen or known that the flood of thoughts rising from empty rooms takes her away to unknown places. Then she, i.e. me, learnt to enjoy and talk in her solitude, perhaps this was the reason why at the age of 25 her pen wrote-
“Who speaks to me even in the void,
I’m yours, I’m yours
Whose eyes are always watching me
as if you have known it for a long time
Who speaks to me by tinkling the strings of my heart
I am yours, I am yours … “
Wrapped in these feelings and with her household responsibilities, she became a college student in 1961. After becoming a student of English Pratishtha, the writings of poet Pant became her favourite subject. 1962 My friends gave titles to everyone before the summer vacation. When I reached the common room, everyone said in unison, ‘Look, Pant’s daughter has arrived’. My friends made me Pant’s daughter and conveyed my feelings to my father. That day, while returning home from college, seeing the flying leaves, these lines came to my lips, “Sometimes with the flying leaves, I meet my son Sukumar”
The very next day she wrote a letter to Pant ji. She had not expected to receive a reply so soon. She had never imagined that her dream would come true in this way. His affectionate words along with the address of ‘daughter’ took her to the world of dreams. She never Almora Even if I went there, I would write from there. I felt proud of my father’s love the day I returned from the press.Lokayatan‘ sent the first copy of the book to her, on which was written ‘With love to daughter Saraswati’. After enrolling in M.A., a big accident happened with her, only after this Allahabad Known.
In the words of Saraswati Ji
“When father Pant came in front of me, I felt as if we were seeing an angel descended from heaven. His reassurance to us, his gentle behaviour, introducing me to some writers who had come to our house, naming my daughter Rashmi, writing beautiful lines in the name of the children and a complete poem in my name… below which is written ‘On the arrival of daughter Saraswati to Prayag’, all this is a priceless heritage for me. He also advised me to bring out a collection of poems, he would have written the preface himself, but it could not happen. Finally, as a result of the enthusiasm and dedication of my children, with their support, my first poetry collection “Nadi Pukare Sagar” was published. That collection was named by my most respected guru, former president and professor Dr. Purnendu. In this collection of Saraswati Prasad Sumitranandan Pant This collection also includes the poem written by Pant on the arrival of his daughter Saraswati at Prayag. In this collection, that poem is written in Pant’s handwriting-
Chandrakiran Kiritini
You, who is coming?
At the feet of silent dreams!
calms the solitude of the heart
the crystal moments
Filled with the music of heaven!
The rising tide,
World in Shobha Sindhu,
Dancing joy crazy
on the crest of the waves
Dancing feet of inspiration!
Seven diamond rays illuminated
of consciousness in the core
The window opens filled with mystery!
Amar Veena is continuous
resounding, resounding
Emotions are selfless—
May the stars open into dreamy amber!
Bind life to the global rhythm
Hiding the face Parashar,
rise from mortal to heaven
Prasad is the immortality of life
The whole universe is filled with beauty!
Chandrakiran Kiritini
You, who is coming?
At the feet of silent dreams!
Honours and Awards
English Awarded by Bihar Governor Vinod Chandra Pandey for his significant contribution. Parikalpa Samman 2010 for the best memoir
demise
Saraswati Prasad’s husband late Ramchandra Prasad always appreciated her literary journey and gave direction to her interests. She became friends with children and grandchildren. Even the smallest things became special treasures in her diary. She would get restless on hearing the news of someone’s death. Her desire to live with her children was so intense that even the thought of her own death would fill her eyes with tears. But death has to come and it came and 19 September, 2013 On 19th September 2014, she was no more among us. On her first death anniversary, her Family Together they offered him a literary tribute with the release of the collection “Ek Thi Taru”. It was compiled and edited by his younger daughter Rashmi Prabha.
