Introduction:

The Sanskrit word Tantra means ‘to weave’. Tantrism, a branch of Hinduism, acknowledges that no action in the Universe can take place unless the right combination of substance and energy comes together at once. The metaphorical loom, thread and cosmic weaver all need to be present at the right time in the right place, in order for creation to manifest.

Cloth takes on significant symbolism in the Hindu religion. It is used metaphorically to represent many things including the fabric of space, time and life itself. Cloth is mentioned in may places of the culture’s sacred texts.

Textiles are of great importance in Indian secular culture, not because of their immense practical use in daily life, but because they have expressed an incredible tradition of fine arts and sophistication, and have provided the country with great economic wealth for millennia, sustaining the huge population of agriculturalists, weavers, merchants and artisans.

Cloth plays a centre role of practically every major religious ritual and life celebration and socially displays messages as subtle as caste and economic status.

Almost 2000 years ago, the celebrated Sanskrit poet and writer, Kalidasa wrote a body of work called The Loom of Time, which encompassed some of the most important stories of India. The subject of most of his work, was beauty and his writings invoke rich mental imagery.

As with much Indian literature, a plot with characters is often woven together with a spiritual message or deep discussion of moral dilemmas. This is a major characteristic of Sanskrit writing, if not Indian existence. The understanding of the spiritual is experienced simultaneously with the daily routine, with all actions and through all observations.

The following poem, my own, is a metaphor inspired by the observation of parallels between the life of a textile and life itself. A saree, begins it’s life from a plant; the seeds of cotton – it undergoes an incredible transformation before becoming a finished piece of cloth ready for wearing. As it is worn it slowly begins to deteriorate until it breaks apart, is thrown out and is returned to the soil from whence it came.

Life is like weaving a ream of fabric
The process, a mystic transformation
Of chemistry and physics into conscience
Our souls, cotton seeds
Scattered by the hand of destiny
Inside the secret codes of life uncoil
Left open to the divine elements
Monsoon or sun
Only the strongest survive
Until the first yield
A success
Fluffy offerings
Harvested, cleaned and dyed
Spun, spun, spun
Tested by rough treatment
The purpose of challenge
Sometimes masked by suffering
Only the cosmic weaver sees the plans
While we complain
Oblivious to destiny
Each treatment refines
Finally, as delicate threads
We are taken to the loom of time
Now the tantric magic begins
He who is the master craftsmen
Weaver of the universe
Where time is the warp
And space the weft
He will now work to transform plant
Into royal garment
Sacred Art
Religious metaphor
He will create pattern
Line by line
With meticulous dedication
Tan-tric, tan-tric, tan-tric
Go the peddle and beam
Each day in a life
A single thread in the cosmic loom
Microscopic precision
Unfurling into macroscopic splendour
The infinite working
With the infantesible
Contrasting colours
Geometry of the mind
Beauty awakes in finishing grandeur
6 meters of sublime natural fibre
Culminating in golden perfection
A saree
Crisp and stiff ready to be worn
For the first time
After the first unfolding
The decline begins
Never again pristine fibres
Witness to countless passages of life
Births, first periods, weddings, deaths
Worn and washed
Draped, creased and tied
Scrubbed, starched, ironed
Folded and unfolded
Fibres begin to wear
Under expectation of daily routine
Used to swath a baby
Torn up and used
As cleaning rages
Tea towels
Curtains and cushion covers
Threads come apart
The magic unpicks
Recycled, broken
Into ever smaller pieces
Deterioration is inevitable
Used and reused
Returning to miniscule form
Blown out to the fields
Trodden into red earth
Disintergrating and decomposing
The beauty evaporates
The soul departs
Until only physics and chemistry remain
Substance
Waiting for the cosmos
To work it’s magic again