When poetry looks at mythology with human eyes

Jo Bhara Nahin Hai Bhavon Se, Jismein Bahti

Rasdhar Nahin;Vah Hriday Nahin Hai,

Patthar Hai, Jismein Swadesh Ka Pyar Nahin

At a time when poetry was either too flowery to feel real or too distant to move the common reader, Maithili Sharan Gupt did something simple yet revolutionary — he wrote in the language people actually spoke. In doing so, he gave Hindi poetry a new direction. He moved away from the old, decorative style of Braj Bhasha and chose Khari Boli, the everyday Hindi that the masses felt connected to. With it, he brought poetry into real life, writing about duty, emotion, sacrifice and the country itself. His words did not shout, they stirred something deeper.

Born on August 3, 1886, in Chirgaon near Jhansi, Gupt grew up in a household steeped in Indian culture and tradition. Ironically, he had little interest in school. Formal education bored him, but books did not. He taught himself Sanskrit, Hindi and English, devouring the epics and scriptures of India, alongside the political currents of his time. He was particularly influenced by Swami Vivekananda, Dayanand Saraswati and Bankim Chandra Chattopadhyay — figures who believed in awakening the nation’s soul through thought and action. These voices, along with his father’s encouragement, shaped the young poet’s vision: that literature should not just beautify language but deepen character.

That belief echoed through his earliest and most iconic work, Bharat-Bharati (1912). At a time when India was stirring under colonial rule, this poetic collection did not shout for blood — it called for conscience. It reminded Indians of their past glory, their present decay, and the moral rebuilding required for a just future. Bharat-Bharati became a household name, and even found a place in school syllabi. Among its many admirers was Mahatma Gandhi, who was so moved by Gupt’s writing that he called him Rashtrakavi — the National Poet. The title stayed with him for life.

But Gupt was far more than a patriotic poet. His genius lay in reimagining mythology with deeply human eyes. In Saket, he told the story of Urmila, Lakshman’s wife — abandoned for 14 years during his exile. In Yashodhara, he gave voice to Buddha’s wife, a woman left behind in the name of renunciation. These weren’t just emotional retellings, but more like revolutions. In a world that celebrated male heroism, Gupt brought forward the strength of the silent, the waiting, the sacrificed. His poems often wrestled with the idea of dharma — righteous duty — and how painful it can be to uphold. His characters were not saints, but humans torn between choices. Through them, he taught that true courage lies in empathy and that patriotism begins with personal integrity.

Later, Gupt served in the Rajya Sabha, where he continued to advocate cultural education and ethical values. Yet, even in Parliament, he remained first and foremost a poet — a moral voice in political clothing. He was honoured with the Padma Bhushan in 1954, one of the highest civilian awards in India, in recognition of his exceptional contributions to Hindi poetry. When he passed away in 1964, India lost a poet, but more than that, it lost a mirror, a mirror that asked a generation to not just fight for freedom, but to grow worthy of it.

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