The Face of Death: A Literary Review on Dr. Bhawani Shankar Nial’s Poem “An Encounter with Death” (2021)

By Leni Marlina

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It begins, always, with a question. A question you ask not with your lips, but with your being. A silent but thunderous wondering that echoes in the cavities of your mind: What is death, really? Not in the sense of biological decay or a moment marked by a last breath. But death as experience, as encounter, as revelation. And from this quiet urgency rises the need for poetry, the one form of language that dares to step beyond the clinical, the philosophical, even the theological, and instead trembles before death with a candle in hand, illuminating only what the heart dares to see.

That is precisely what Dr. Bhawani Shankar Nial’s poem, An Encounter with Death, translated by Gobinda Sahoo, offers us—a candlelit walk through the vast terrain of mortality. What follows in this review is not merely an analysis, but an extended dialogue. Not only with the poet and the translator, but with you, the reader. And perhaps, if we listen carefully, with Death herself.

A. Unveiling the Terrain: Entering the Poem’s World

Let us start at the beginning:

> Many times I’ve been
> To her world of lines
> To the harsh jungle of planets and satellites
> Where the sunlight is yet to reach.

The speaker speaks of “many times”—an indication not of a single traumatic encounter but of a repetitive return. Already, we are placed in the realm of memory, of cyclical journeys. The “world of lines” is a puzzling phrase. It might suggest the linearity of logic, the structure of written knowledge, or even the lines of fate. The poet does not say it outright; instead, we are invited to interpret, to linger.

And then the metaphor deepens. The universe becomes a “harsh jungle” of planets and satellites, a curious reversal of expectation. Space, which is often imagined as vast and silent, is here evoked as a wild place, tangled and dangerous. The absence of sunlight signifies not only physical coldness but spiritual obscurity. The poet is seeking warmth, meaning, enlightenment—and he finds none. So he continues the journey.

Pause here, dear reader. Have you ever walked through such a space? A time in your life when meaning eluded you, when you were surrounded by seemingly intelligent systems—planets and satellites—but still felt utterly alone in the dark?

B. The Face of Death: From Abstraction to Intimacy

> Argued many a times
> Contacting her eyes
> Keeping pace with hers
> To unveil the mystery of my birth and death.

Suddenly, Death is no longer a concept. She has eyes. She has a pace. She has a presence. This movement from abstraction to personification is essential. It shifts the poem from philosophical musing to intimate dialogue. The speaker is not meditating on death from afar. He is walking with her, arguing with her, seeking something fundamental: the mystery of his birth and death.

There is something almost mythic here. Death in this poem is not a divine narrative. This is personal. The mystery is not “what is death,” but “what is my death?” and even more profoundly, “what is my birth?”

And this is where the poem’s depth becomes evident. For what is birth, if not the beginning of a journey toward death? And what is death, if not a mirror held to our birth?

C. The Valley of Footprints: Tracing the Doubt

> Many times I’ve been and come back too
> To the sandy region
> Of her remote valley
> Leaving behind many footprints of doubts
> And confusions too
> Of widowed chaos and turmoil.

This passage hits with a peculiar poignancy. We often think of returning from an encounter with death as survival. But the speaker describes it differently: as a repeated pilgrimage, a ritual, revisiting.

The “sandy region” is a poetic masterstroke. Sand, as any traveler knows, is unstable. It shifts underfoot. It records your passage but erases it quickly. To leave footprints in sand is to acknowledge impermanence. “Footprints of doubt”—what a striking image. Doubt itself has shape, direction, perhaps even intention.

And then we arrive at one of the most haunting phrases in the poem: “widowed chaos.” Here, chaos is not only disorder—it is a bereaved entity. It has lost something. Or someone. The phrase suggests that even chaos once had a companion—perhaps meaning, perhaps structure—and now wanders alone. This is not just poetic; it is existential. It evokes the modern condition of the soul: surrounded by information, structure, order—and yet fundamentally lost.

Have you felt it? That strange loneliness in the midst of noise? That chaos that should be exhilarating but instead is empty?

D. The Laboratory of Oblivion: A Mind at Work

> In the laboratory of my oblivion
> In one feeble afternoon
> Of an unforgettable past
> Particle, atom and molecule
> Of my meticulous and fastidious questions
> Skipping from one page to the other
> Of the books of my cupboard.

Here, the poet shifts registers again—from external journey to internal exploration. The “laboratory of my oblivion” is a breathtaking metaphor. Oblivion is the space of forgetfulness, but a laboratory is a place of experimentation and discovery. Put together, the phrase suggests a paradoxical mental space where the speaker both forgets and searches.

And in this laboratory, questions become material entities—particles, atoms, molecules. The speaker’s intellect is not passive; it is busy, fastidious, meticulous. He is not merely feeling, he is interrogating. But to what end?

This is where the reader might feel a pang of recognition. How often have we turned to books, to knowledge, to scholarship in moments of emotional crisis? And how often have we found that the answers do not lie in pages, but in what lies between them?

There is a gentle irony here. The cupboard holds the books. The books hold the knowledge. The knowledge holds… more questions. And so the loop continues.

Let’s pause again. When you seek answers, where do you go? And when the answers do not come, do you stop asking—or do you, like the speaker, continue skipping from page to page, haunted but driven?

E. On Translation: Gobinda Sahoo’s Craft

Before moving further, it’s worth acknowledging the translator’s role. Gobinda Sahoo has not simply rendered this poem from one language to another. He has transported its soul.

Translation is a dialogue—not just between languages, but between cultures, rhythms, poetics, and ontologies. The fact that this poem retains its nuance, ambiguity, and emotional gravity is a testament to Sahoo’s sensitivity. The lines do not read like mere conversions; they breathe. They resonate.

This is no small feat. Especially in a poem that trades so heavily in abstraction and metaphor. It would be easy for the poem to fall into vagueness or over-explanation in translation. But Sahoo keeps the voice intact—at times mystical, at times scientific, always deeply human.

F. Death as a Feminine Presence: Gendered Readings

A subtle but powerful layer of the poem is its portrayal of Death as a “her.” This gendering invites reflection. Why feminine? Is it because of the cultural archetype of Death as a seductress, a mysterious woman who lures us across the threshold? Or is there something nurturing, maternal even, in the way death receives us back into silence?

The speaker “contacts her eyes,” “keeps pace with her”—these are not acts of confrontation but of companionship. The gendered depiction complicates our understanding of death. It softens it, but also makes it more elusive. A masculine death might be brash, direct, a warrior. This death is subtle, mysterious, unpredictable.

It’s a depiction that aligns with ancient mythologies—Persephone, Kali, Hel—but also with the psychoanalytic view of death as a return to the womb. Whether consciously or not, the poem plays into a deeply embedded symbolic structure.

And you, reader—how do you picture death? If you close your eyes, does Death have a face? A voice? Would it be male, female, or something beyond gender? How does that image affect your fear—or your peace?

G. Cycles and Spirals: The Poem’s Structure

Though free in form, the poem is not formless. It is built on repetition—not of exact phrases, but of movements. The repeated returns (“many times I’ve been”) signal a cyclical journey. We move forward, but also backward. We revisit. We rethink. We return.

This structure mimics the human condition. Grief is not linear. Nor is understanding. We spiral. We circle. We repeat questions, rephrase answers, retrace steps. The poem, in this sense, is honest. It does not pretend that wisdom arrives in a straight line. It admits, and even embraces, the messiness of becoming.

This is one of the poem’s greatest strengths: it refuses neatness. There is no climax, no tidy conclusion. There is only the journey—and the return. Again and again.

Have you noticed this in your own life? How the same thoughts, the same fears, return in different guises? How grief, once thought buried, resurfaces unexpectedly? The poem honors this truth. And in doing so, it honors us.

H. Emotional Intimacy and Universality

What makes “An Encounter with Death” so moving is its intimacy. The speaker does not speak about death in the abstract. He speaks to it. He walks with it. He argues. He returns. He doubts.

And in that emotional nakedness, we find ourselves. For who among us has not questioned? Who has not sought meaning in the silence? Who has not argued with the inevitable?

Yet the poem is not heavy-handed. It does not tell us what to feel. It shows us what he feels, and invites us to join. That’s the mark of true poetic maturity: the ability to evoke without dictating.

I. Structural Fluidity: Reflecting Life’s Unpredictability

The poem’s free verse structure mirrors the unpredictability of life and death. The absence of a fixed rhyme scheme or meter allows for a natural flow of thoughts and emotions, akin to the human experience. This stylistic choice reinforces the poem’s themes of uncertainty and introspection.

J. Universal Themes: Connecting with the Human Experience

Dr. Nial’s poem resonates on a universal level, addressing themes that transcend cultural and geographical boundaries. The exploration of death, the search for meaning, and the acknowledgment of human limitations are experiences shared by all.

For readers in Indonesia and beyond, the poem offers a space for reflection and connection. It encourages us to confront our own mortality, to question our beliefs, and to find solace in the shared journey of existence.

K. Conclusion

Dr. Nial’s “An Encounter with Death” is a profound meditation on the human condition. Through vivid imagery, philosophical inquiry, and emotional depth, Dr. Nial invites us to engage with the inevitable, to seek understanding, and to find meaning in the journey itself.

As we ponder the poem’s insights, we’re reminded that while death is a certainty, our responses to it—our reflections, actions, and connections—define the essence of our lives. The poem doesn’t offer definitive answers but instead encourages an ongoing dialogue with the mysteries that surround us.