Namdeo Dhasal - whose works bared the ugly, blood-dripping entrails of society's underbelly, disturbing and unshackling an established upper-caste comfort zone which held Marathi literature in a stranglehold from early 13th century - had an over four-decade-long unbroken tradition of writing long-form narrative poetry in honour of Dr Babasaheb Ambedkar every December 6th, his death anniversary. Now Dhasal’s protégé Dalit ideologue, poet and litterateur Vaibhav Chhaya has decided to continue this tradition.

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Chhaya, whose anthology of poems, Entire Deleted Sky has got him both critical acclaim and rave reviews says that he has been mulling over putting this poem together for nearly a year.  “What began with the first poem in Golpitha (1972) became a regular feature in all his works since. In fact all the Ambedkar poems have been complied in an anthology Tujhe Bot Dharun Chalalo Mee,” informs Chhaya who adds, “There is so much going on in the country and in Maharashtra that is disturbing and tries to attack the very roots of the movement that Ambedkar created. I have time and again been struck by how so much of what he said and wrote has only gained in relevance in today’s times.”

The long narrative poem in his signature fiery style tears into society for the way it conveniently twists Ambedkar’s legacy to suit its own casteist exploitative agenda. Chhaya points the most striking symbolism in the way even the Ambedkar’s statue is being designed at the new Mumbai memorial.

“As someone who gave an entire people direction, his statues have typically had him pointing out with an extended hand indicating that marginalised educate, mobilise and struggle for equality and dignity. Now the new statue design is going to have him standing with his hands tied back. I wonder why this is being done?”

Namdeo Dhasal, the enfante terrible of Marathi literature was himself full of praise for Chhaya whose subjects and style have often found resonance with Dhasal, his hero.

"I have been reading him for as long as I can remember and its inevitable that a the strong fiery style left its indeible impression on me," says Chhaya who recites a line which had raised a storm when Dhasal wrote it in 1972 in his Golpitha: "Mumbai, majhya priya rande tujhyatun mee phatkya bhananga sarkha jaanar nahi (Mumbai, my beloved whore, I won't leave you in disgrace)."

According to him both Babasaheb (Ambedkar) and ideologues like Dhasal had the foresight to see that the way out of hatred, discrimination and hostility ends at the feet of the the Buddha and his path of peace and compassion. "Even today humanity better pay heed while there is time before we wipe ourselves out from the face of this planet," says the poet who adds, "I wish iconic leaders like them were alive to unify and mobilise the splintered Dalit voice and vote."

"Dada (that's what he calls Dhasal) lit the torch of aggressive assertion for dignity and equality at a time when the movement was beginning to flounder. Caught between caste-persecution and arrogant administrative apathy, the average Ambedkarite found hope and inspiration in the whiplash of Dhasal's poetry. It kept three generations inspired."

Calling the late legend "a rare poet who dared spit fire on the sun with his words," Chhaya modestly downplays his own work. "I am only trying to keep marching with torch that Babasaheb lit and Dada carried with such pride."

Dhasal's wife and celebrated poetess Mallika Amar Sheikh was also full of praise for Chhaya. "I'm happy his legacy is being taken forward," she said. 

मण्या ओवणारी आई म्हणते ही तुझी पाटी पेन्सिलगिरव धडा बाबासाहेबांचासुरूवात कर..आ आंबेडकरांचा अन् गिरव त्यासोबतचघ घामाचाक कष्टाचाल लढ्याचास संघर्षाचा...

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(English translation by lyricist Yogesh Damle) 

My mother, while stringing beads, says,"Take your slate and pencil",and revise Babasaheb's lessonA for AmbedkarS for SweatS for StruggleT for ToilF for Fight

Now in schools, children of Doctors, Engineers and Conservancy Staff,sit abreast, learn the same lessons.Fee remission forms arrive,followed by history lessons.Glances are exchanged,seats are shuffledSilent punches are showered in the morning assemblyover the national song,and we resist tears deep within.

Aye Bheema,I reflect in solitude,if you were around today,You wouldn't have stopped at rescuing ninety million souls,You would've brandished your iron fist,and uttered with aplomb,'Iran, Iraq, Syria, Nam, Afghanistan and the Red Corridor,aren't mere warfields. Those are heaps of corpses.'You would've connected the dots,between their heaps and ours,You would've narrated the sequence of global exploitation,and uttered the clarion call of sovereign independence.

Aye Bheema, if you were around,The Black Magic bill wouldn't have languished,Dabholkar, Pansare and Kalburgi would still be amongst us.Acts and justice were the toys you crafted,while passing a thought to weave the downtrodden together,and wage the final war.

Exactly hence,They're scared of you and your shadow,They're scared of your finger,pointing towards social justice,beckoning portals of development,leading thoughts from self to sovereignty,stoking a blaze,painting a canvas of strife,tracing the sun's trajectory.

They're scared of you,for you are the only true sun,one of whose works,stalled them for 68 years, bound them for eternity.Hence they're scheming now,to entomb you in a memorial.

Aye Bheema,All know of 26/11, 7/11, 6/12But 'Bathè is pushed into oblivionRamabai Nagar's gore is forgotten as a ghetto,Kharda,  Jawkheda,  Shirdi and Fareedabad are just fleeting flashes on bulletins,Just enough to feed vain updates on Social Media

The days are as bad as those who seized them,They've made demons of menThey're enjoying the defeat of man,Cheering at the demise of humanity

They've played your rules to anoint a murderous monarchA throne carved with lofty lines'Truth alone triumphs''Betterment of the massesBliss to the masses' Is being sullied by a bloodied handIs it a wonder that our anthem is reduced to a fifty-two second fix to patriotismand insistance upon beef ban, its holiest façade? 

A toe-space in the corporate has been a saving grace.'Affirmative action' doesn't exist in the dictionaryCheap, convenient labour is whatcapitalists seekLives are bid cheaper than labourBread drives us Morsels win aginst the mind,for they are who fuel the dayA conspiracy hungry eyes miss.Bread reigns over the brains We become lumpen,The fire in bellies, bleeds those it consumes. It melts hearts of stone for the famished kids. The stomach, is but, a haunt of hungry ghouls.The bourgeois is enslaved to two square meals.But we even lack the grace, To beg at your feet for forgiveness,To confess that rations got rated higher than respect for self.

We lost against the force of economicsand failed to bridge the chasms of class

The neo brahmins would diss me as intolerantSo be it... To earn tolerance for all, Let them prove their humanity 

Stop the glimmer of diamond jewellerywhose cuts only reflect African Childhood lost in weaponryPunch holes in cruise linersleaving a slick of pollution in their wakeCastrate the stock market bullWho's fuelling material disparity like a flush of testosterone

Demolish the malls and the glitzy shopsWhere labourers toiled onceTheir graves bite the basement dustUnsubscribe from Playboy and porn sitesIcons of women's objectificationHurl at least a stone at the multinationals,Who stole rivers, lands, mountains and airand hung the farmer by the noose.

GM crops stripped the earth,Looted the wages.Come, break the prisonsHousing untouchables condemned to untouchability,To face one trial after another

Aye Bheema,There won't be many takers for this callThey're consumed with guiltThey read 'Ambedkariite' as 'Untouchable''Constitutionist' as 'Naxalite''Progressive' as 'Casteist'

Neither shall we give up, nor shall we wait,You shall inspire and charge us upYou could've avenged thousands of your foes,But aye, large-hearted king,You gave them love too

Aye Bheema,This December 6th is another ceremony of gratitude,But there won't rise another sun like youThousands of waves under your shade,Will defy tempests of  travestyBaba, for your innocent kids,You're bigger than any saint or seerYour words are powerhouses, strengthening arms to uproot trees,Our elements and our world,Are overwhelmed with your presence