Madhushala (The Tavern) by Harivansh Rai Bachchan
Original in Hindi is here https://kaavyaalaya.org/mdhshla
Below is the English rendering in verse, given by ChatGPT
1
From tender feelings of grapes today, I’ve pressed the heady wine,
Beloved, with my own hands I offer you this cup divine.
First, I raise it up to you—only then to all the rest,
For you alone, O dearest one, my tavern greets its guest.
2
If you should thirst, I’ll heat the world, extract its juices whole,
And dance as cupbearer with my goblet, pouring soul to soul.
All the sweetness of my life I’ve long since poured for you,
Today I consecrate you with the tavern’s nectar too.
3
Beloved, you are my wine, and I, your thirsty bowl,
You pour yourself into me, becoming drinker whole.
I overflow with you in rapture, you are drunk on me,
Together we are tavern, in one ecstasy.
4
From the vine of feeling, imagination brews the wine,
The poet comes as cupbearer, serving verse divine.
This stream shall never empty—drink a lakh or two!
O readers, you are drinkers, my book the tavern true.
5
Each day I press from tender thoughts the sweetness of the vine,
And fill the thirsty goblet of my spirit with this wine.
With imagination’s hand, I drink it deep myself,
I am the drinker, cupbearer, tavern, and the shelf.
6
The drinker sets from home toward the tavern’s door,
“What road shall I take?” he wonders, puzzled, sore.
Each man points another path, but I will always say—
“Choose one, and walk it straight, you’ll reach the tavern anyway.”
7
In endless wandering, alas, my life has slipped away!
“Still far ahead,” says every guide I meet along the way.
I lack the strength to press ahead, the courage to turn behind,
And yet I see the tavern near, though weary is my mind.
8
Keep uttering on your lips—wine, liquor, hālā,
In your hand keep feeling the goblet, lālā.
Think always of the radiant cupbearer, her call—
And soon, O traveler, the tavern won’t seem far at all.
9
When desire for wine itself becomes the drink of fire,
When thirsty lips alone fulfill the goblet’s deep desire,
When in meditation, the cupbearer stands revealed—
No wine, no goblet, no bearer remains—the tavern is unsealed.
10
Listen to the gurgle as the wine flows into cup,
Listen to the anklets as the maid comes serving up.
You are so near, not far at all—just four more steps to go,
Hear the drinkers cheer, smell the fragrance—tavern’s glow.
11
Leave behind all other work, and come, O thirsty soul,
The world’s tavern is open wide, brimming full.
Step inside and drink deep—do not delay or pine,
The world has but one tavern, and its wine is mine.
12
Each door will lead you here, whichever path you take,
Each road at last converges for the tavern’s sake.
Ask not which path is shorter, which is long and thin,
Every road leads onward to the tavern’s din.
Madhushala
Part 2 (Stanzas 13–25)
English rendering in verse
13
If thirsty, then set forth—why halt or hesitate?
Each step brings the tavern nearer, soon the waiting gate.
Lift the goblet, drink the nectar—why the useless wait?
Hesitation will not help you, thirst won’t satiate.
14
The pilgrim, longing, roams in every town and place,
Seeking shrine or mosque or temple with a saintly face.
But tell me, O traveler—what shrines can equal mine?
The tavern is my temple, and my prayer is wine.
15
The faithful kneel before their gods with folded hands,
Some gaze on Mecca’s Kaaba, some on Ganga’s sands.
But when the goblet’s flame is raised, what idols can compare?
Wine is my scripture, the tavern my prayer.
16
Some read aloud the Vedas, some the Qur’an true,
Some weigh the Bible’s verses, some the Tripitak too.
But I recite but one book, page on page unrolled—
The tavern is my scripture, its wisdom never old.
17
Some worship stones in temples, idols carved of clay,
Some circle holy shrines and chant through night and day.
But I will bow to goblet, to the drinker, to the hall—
The tavern is my temple, and my god is all.
18
The devout one seeks his heaven, paradise above,
Where nymphs and rivers flow in gardens filled with love.
But better than these heavens is one sip of wine—
The tavern gives me paradise, immediate, divine.
19
The yogi sits in trance, the saint in prayer absorbed,
The hermit in his silence, his body gaunt, starved.
But deeper than their penance, meditation, fast,
Is the ecstasy the tavern pours into my heart so vast.
20
Ascetics burn in penance, fasting, harsh control,
Saints are scorched in sacrifice, renouncing all they hold.
But softer flames of tavern fires are sweet to me—
This burning of the wine consumes me blissfully.
21
The hermit seeks release from bondage of the flesh,
He leaves the crowded world for forests still and fresh.
But I shall never leave the tavern’s holy throng,
For there alone my soul is freed in rapture and in song.
22
To reach salvation, scriptures say, is highest bliss,
And moksha is the end of all that’s base in this.
But drinkers know a sweeter goal, another higher role:
The tavern’s wine is moksha—it liberates the soul.
23
A mosque stands proud, a temple, church, and holy shrine,
But sweeter than their sermons is this cup of mine.
No preacher can inspire me, no saint’s lips enthrall,
But one drop of tavern’s wine uplifts me over all.
24
O priest, O sage, O mullah—stop your endless call,
Your rituals and sermons—enough, enough of all!
One sip from the tavern, and I see the divine—
Enough of all your scriptures—my scripture is wine.
25
You speak of God, of Heaven, of worlds so far away,
You bind the soul in rituals, in endless words you say.
But I have touched eternity, felt timelessness within—
The tavern is my cosmos, and its wine’s my origin.
Madhushala
Part 3 (Stanzas 26–40)
English rendering in verse
26
O priest, why keep repeating tales of sin and grace?
Why frighten men with hell, with heaven’s shining face?
The tavern makes no judgment, pardons every crime—
One cup, and all is holy, all forgiven in time.
27
O hermit, why so weary? Why bear the yogi’s pain?
Why scorch the body’s temple, why starve the heart and brain?
The tavern heals all hungers, quenches thirsts untold—
Why suffer for salvation, when wine’s embrace is bold?
28
O mullah, why the fasting? Why the endless prayers?
Why bow a thousand times, why count the rosary’s layers?
The tavern needs no tally, no ritual, no chain—
One sip, and you are free, unburdened of all pain.
29
Some go to bathe at Ganga, some to Mecca fly,
Some fast beneath the Bodhi, seeking truth on high.
But I, content and smiling, seek no holy goal—
The tavern’s cup is Ganga, Mecca, Bodhi to my soul.
30
A man may wander lifetime, temples old to find,
Or dwell in desert silence, stilling all the mind.
But quicker than a moment, surer than a prayer—
The tavern shows the pathway, and God is waiting there.
31
No need for holy places, no need for saints austere,
The tavern is sufficient, the tavern’s vision clear.
The goblet is the scripture, the wine my mystic flame—
And God himself, the tavern, calling out my name.
32
The pundit speaks of karma, of endless births we tread,
Of sins from past lives weighing on the living head.
But I shall live this moment, this single breath of mine,
For tavern’s joy is timeless, beyond the bounds of time.
33
The yogi stills his breathing, counts each subtle breath,
He seeks release from sorrow, escape from birth and death.
But I need not the counting, nor still the rising chest—
The tavern is my freedom, my peace, my final rest.
34
The seer may chant his mantra, the sage his sutra quote,
The saint may hum his bhajans, the fakir sing his note.
But sweeter than their chanting, more blessed than their prayer—
The tavern’s song of laughter resounds beyond compare.
35
No scriptures can define it, no priest can bind its way,
No dogma can contain it, no sermon can convey.
The tavern is the riddle, the secret, and the key—
Who drinks with heart wide open, knows God’s infinity.
36
The candle burns in temples, the lamp in shrines alight,
Incense curls in churches, mosques glow through the night.
But brighter than their altars, than incense, flame, or song—
The tavern’s wine is shining, eternal, deep, and strong.
37
The fakir seeks detachment, renouncing home and kin,
The hermit flees the market, the bustle, dust, and din.
But I embrace the living, I drink with all mankind—
The tavern is my refuge, its love is never blind.
38
The world is vast, unending, its pathways never cease,
Men wander here and yonder, some seeking joy, some peace.
But all roads lead together, and all paths intertwine—
At last they reach the tavern, to taste its holy wine.
39
O seeker, why the journey? The shrine is not afar,
You need not cross the deserts, nor chase the distant star.
The tavern stands beside you, the wine is in your hand—
Why wander for salvation, when here’s the promised land?
40
So hear me, O companions, O wanderers of earth,
Stop chasing phantom heavens, stop questioning your birth.
The tavern is eternal, its door is never closed—
Come drink, and know forever: the tavern is the rose.
Madhushala
Part 4 (Stanzas 41–55)
English rendering in verse
41
Some see in wine destruction, some ruin, some disgrace,
But I have seen within it God’s laughter, God’s embrace.
The tavern does not harm you, it frees you from the chain—
The fault is not the goblet, but how you use the grain.
42
The pundit calls it poison, the saint condemns it sin,
The moralist grows fearful of flames it may begin.
But when the cup is lifted with love, with heart sincere—
The tavern is pure nectar, divinely crystal clear.
43
The hermit flees from women, from touch, from worldly ties,
He sees in love temptation, a net of luring lies.
But love, when mixed with kindness, when free from lust and guile—
Becomes the tavern’s sweetness, God’s own eternal smile.
44
If love be true devotion, if love be pure and deep,
If passion births compassion, if flame of care you keep,
Then woman is no danger, no snare, no demon’s call—
She is the tavern’s doorway, the mother of us all.
45
Some fear the bloom of roses, some fear the beauty’s glance,
They tremble at her footsteps, her laughter, her romance.
But beauty is creation, its wine is meant to bless—
The tavern teaches worship of beauty’s loveliness.
46
Do not despise the senses, do not condemn the flesh,
For body is the vessel where soul and spirit mesh.
The tavern does not curse it, but celebrates its fire—
The body is the chalice that lifts our spirits higher.
47
The critics call it madness, this worship at the inn,
They say the wine is sinful, indulgence steeped in sin.
But fools, they have not tasted, nor sipped the holy bowl—
The tavern is no madness, it is the cure of soul.
48
The ascetic wastes his lifetime in chanting empty hymns,
He counts his beads of rosary till eyes grow faint and dim.
But I, with one deep goblet, one draught of sacred wine—
Have found the joy he’s seeking, eternal and divine.
49
They tell me: “Do not enter the tavern’s wicked door,
Its pleasures soon shall vanish, its sweetness be no more.”
But I reply with laughter: “O blind ones, cannot see?
The tavern is immortal, its wine eternity.”
50
The miser hugs his money, the king clings to his throne,
The sage clings to his doctrines, each proud of what they own.
But all their treasures vanish, like dust before the gale—
The tavern’s wine alone is a wealth that shall not fail.
51
O world, you chase illusions, you quarrel, fight, and kill,
You hoard your gold and silver, your kingdoms rule at will.
But wiser is the drinker, who smiles at life’s parade—
The tavern is his kingdom, his crown is never fade.
52
The merchant counts his profits, the farmer ploughs his land,
The soldier guards his nation, the craftsman shapes his hand.
But I, with cup and goblet, need neither sword nor plough—
The tavern is my labour, my harvest here and now.
53
What need have I of titles, of honours, or of fame?
The tavern is sufficient, I ask no other name.
The wine has crowned me sovereign, the goblet seals my place—
The tavern is my empire, its joy my boundless grace.
54
The yogi seeks detachment, the scholar endless lore,
The saint aspires to virtue, the rich desire more.
But I, with cup uplifted, need none of these in kind—
The tavern is my wisdom, my virtue, and my mind.
55
O friends, the path is simple, no need of mask or guile,
No temple’s dark austerity, no desert’s endless trial.
One tavern stands before you, its gate forever wide—
Step in, and find salvation, with wine your only guide.
Madhushala
Part 5 (Stanzas 56–70)
English rendering in verse
56
The temple bell is ringing, the priest repeats his prayer,
The pundit chants his scriptures with loud, resounding air.
But sweeter than their voices, more sacred still, more true—
The tavern’s song of goblets, the wine’s celestial hue.
57
The conch within the temple, the aarti’s dancing flame,
The fragrance of the incense, the rosary beads of name.
All fade before the tavern, where joy and truth reside—
The wine itself is worship, the cup the holy guide.
58
They tell me: “Bow to idols, to gods of stone and clay,
Seek heaven after dying, give offerings and pray.”
But I have found salvation while drinking at the inn—
The tavern is my temple, my god resides within.
59
Some worship in the churches, some kneel in mosque to pray,
Some wander off to gurudwaras, to chant the Name all day.
But I, with cup uplifted, with goblet full and high—
Have found the same one Spirit beneath the tavern sky.
60
Why run to hills and jungles, why wander far and wide?
The nectar flows before you, its fountain at your side.
O pilgrim, cease your journey, your search is at an end—
The tavern is your Mecca, your temple, and your friend.
61
If God is boundless mercy, if God is love and light,
Then He is in the tavern, His home is here tonight.
The goblet is His scripture, the wine His glowing face—
The tavern is His dwelling, His everlasting grace.
62
Do not despise the tavern, O priest with angry eyes,
Its door is wide and open, it welcomes, sanctifies.
The wine is not a danger, the goblet not a snare—
The tavern is a refuge, God’s mercy dwelling there.
63
The preacher speaks of heaven, the yogi speaks of peace,
The sage preaches of virtue, of sins that never cease.
But I with wine have tasted the bliss they all adore—
The tavern is that heaven, what need to wander more?
64
The scriptures say: “Be patient, salvation yet shall come,
In some far-off tomorrow, in some eternal home.”
But I have drunk salvation, its nectar pure and whole—
The tavern is my heaven, my kingdom, and my soul.
65
No ritual is needed, no fast, no sacrifice,
No weary days of penance, no temple’s costly price.
Just lift the cup, O pilgrim, drink deep, your thirst is gone—
The tavern is your altar, its wine your holy dawn.
66
They tell me: “Turn ascetic, renounce all worldly ties,
Forsake the touch of pleasure, suppress your heart’s replies.”
But I have drunk of gladness, of freedom’s holy spring—
The tavern is my wisdom, I need no other thing.
67
The fakir boasts his begging, the hermit boasts his cave,
The pundit boasts his learning, the warrior boasts his brave.
But I with goblet humble, with wine that lights my way—
Have found a greater treasure, beyond their proud display.
68
O world, you strive for kingdoms, for riches, and for might,
You quarrel over temples, you argue day and night.
But I have found one temple where none shall ever fight—
The tavern is that temple, its wine the only rite.
69
No hatred at its doorway, no caste, no creed, no race,
No barrier of colour, but one united place.
The tavern welcomes all men, the sinner, saint, and thief—
Its wine dissolves all boundaries, its cup dispels all grief.
70
O brothers, learn this wisdom, engrave it in your soul:
The tavern is our shelter, the wine shall make us whole.
Forsake your vain divisions, your quarrels, your disdain—
The tavern is one family, its love shall ever reign.
Madhushala
Part 6 (Stanzas 71–85)
English rendering in verse
71
Some say: “The world is fleeting, illusions all around,
Its pleasures are but shadows, its joys on shifting ground.”
But I have drunk the wine here, eternal, pure, and deep—
The tavern grants a gladness no fleeting time can keep.
72
The yogi leaves his household, his children, wealth, and wife,
To wander in the forest, renouncing worldly life.
But I, with cup beside me, have found release more sure—
The tavern is my freedom, my soul forever pure.
73
The fakir roams in tatters, the beggar sings for bread,
The hermit fasts in silence, the pundit bows his head.
But I have drunk abundance, my hunger now is past—
The tavern is my plenty, my peace secure and vast.
74
O preacher, cease your sermon, O priest, put down your book,
Come drink the wine of gladness, one drop is all it took.
To sweep away my sorrow, to melt away my care—
The tavern is salvation, God’s dwelling shining there.
75
The warrior boasts his conquests, the monarch boasts his crown,
The trader counts his riches, the sage his deep renown.
But I, with humble goblet, with wine of love divine—
Have found a wealth surpassing all treasures that are mine.
76
The temple doors are narrow, the mosque shuts out the poor,
The church divides the faithful, the ashram bars its door.
But open stands the tavern, for every soul to come—
The wine flows free for all men, the tavern is their home.
77
No priest demands an offering, no sermon weights the heart,
No ritual is commanded, no dogma tears apart.
The tavern’s simple teaching: “Drink deep, O soul, and live,
Take joy as sacred nectar, take love as wine to give.”
78
The pundit says: “Recite this,” the yogi says: “Restrain,”
The priest says: “Fear the sinner, the world is dark with stain.”
But I with wine have tasted the dawn that never dies—
The tavern is my scripture, its goblet makes me wise.
79
O brother, why the conflict, O sister, why the hate?
The tavern calls you kindly, its door is wide and great.
Forget your warring temples, your endless, bitter strife—
The tavern is one family, the wine unites all life.
80
Some seek the path of duty, some chase the path of joy,
Some call the world illusion, some treat it as a toy.
But I have drunk the nectar where all these pathways meet—
The tavern is the ending, the tavern is complete.
81
The sage may count his wisdom, the scholar weigh his lore,
The yogi praise his silence, the hermit boast his sore.
But I with cup uplifted, with wine that lights my eyes—
Have found a joy far greater, no book can make me wise.
82
The king may boast his empire, the soldier boast his might,
The priest may boast his virtue, the saint his inner sight.
But I, in tavern humble, with goblet filled with fire—
Have found the truest kingdom, beyond their vain desire.
83
O friend, when life is weary, when all your hopes are gone,
When burdens press upon you, when nights are dark and long—
Come sit beside the tavern, the goblet in your hand,
Its wine will heal your spirit, its cup will help you stand.
84
No poison dwells within it, though all men fear its name,
No bondage is its teaching, no guilt, no sin, no shame.
It frees the soul from sorrow, it makes the spirit whole—
The tavern is pure nectar, the wine the highest goal.
85
So lift the cup, O pilgrim, let gladness fill your eyes,
The tavern is your shelter beneath eternal skies.
No other path is needed, no further truth to see—
The tavern is beginning, the tavern is the key.
Madhushala
Part 7 (Stanzas 86–100)
English rendering in verse
86
If death should come tomorrow, with goblet in my hand,
I’ll smile into its shadow, I’ll rise, I’ll understand.
For wine has taught me courage, no fear can make me fall—
The tavern is my refuge, my end, my all-in-all.
87
O mourner at the graveyard, why weep, why cry, why pray?
My spirit drinks immortal, it cannot pass away.
They’ll bury just the vessel, the clay, the passing shell—
But I’ll still drink in tavern, where endless spirits dwell.
88
When flames consume this body, and ashes whirl in air,
The smoke will rise as incense, the wine’s perfume is there.
And those who watch in silence will whisper soft, in awe:
“He lived, he died in tavern, he kept its holy law.”
89
And if my bones are scattered upon the desert ground,
The sands will turn to crystal, where wine in streams is found.
The winds will chant forever the songs I used to sing—
The tavern lives eternal, my soul its offering.
90
When rivers wash my ashes into the ocean wide,
The waves will dance in rhythm, the foam with joy will ride.
The sea will keep its echo, the song will never cease—
The tavern flows forever, its wine is endless peace.
91
So if you come tomorrow to seek me where I lay,
Don’t search among the gravestones, don’t wander far away.
Just enter through the tavern, and lift a cup to me—
You’ll find me in the laughter, in wine’s eternity.
92
The stars will be my lanterns, the moon will be my glass,
The night will pour its nectar upon the fields of grass.
And those who drink in silence will hear my voice declare:
“The tavern never perishes, its joy is everywhere.”
93
O friend, when you grow weary, when age weighs on your brow,
Remember what I taught you, remember even now:
The tavern is your homeland, its door forever wide,
The goblet is your comfort, the wine your faithful guide.
94
No heaven lies beyond you, no hell beneath your feet,
The tavern is salvation, the tavern is complete.
Drink deep, O heart, and fear not, the journey has begun—
The tavern is eternal, the wine and I are one.
95
And if you see me resting with goblet in my hand,
Don’t think that I’ve grown idle, or fail to understand.
For drinking is my worship, my prayer, my only goal—
The tavern is my temple, the wine my very soul.
96
O singers, keep on singing the songs of wine and cheer,
Let laughter fill the tavern, let gladness linger here.
For sorrow flees before it, and darkness turns to light—
The tavern is the morning, that ends the longest night.
97
The world may call me sinner, the priest may call me base,
The saint may turn in judgment, the sage may hide his face.
But wine has shown me mercy, its cup has made me whole—
The tavern knows no sinner, it only sees the soul.
98
So friend, lift up your goblet, come drink the joy with me,
The tavern’s door is open for all humanity.
No creed, no caste can bind us, no nation stands apart—
The tavern is one family, the wine one beating heart.
99
And when my voice grows silent, when all my songs are past,
The tavern still will echo, its joy will ever last.
Another hand will carry the goblet where I fell—
The tavern flows unending, the wine is living well.
100
So here I end my singing, my hundredth stanza done,
The tavern still before me, the wine, the rising sun.
O friend, my only message, my one, enduring call:
The tavern is immortal—drink deep, and live it all.
Know Thyself 