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Droupadi kowtowed like a bunch of ripen paddy .
Draupodi came out on a bloody evening
The dried leaves of the Hickory tree fell down on the howling of the foxes.
On that time
By spreading out and out the attires
Beautiful Radha was estimating
The Silk cloth of Suwalkuchi
The Varanasi Saree ,
The Ghaghra of Rajasthan ,
The Blue jeans ,
Bra,
Bikini
The darkness was kept concealing a mature physique
Naked Droupadi .
Droupadi learnt the grammar of tigress
Droupadi burnt like coal
A piece of the univers was knocked down on heat
Droupadi passed through a paddy field
Uniquely.
(Background story:The Company produced eleven million kilogram of tea leaves, a record volume in the year and opened it to world market and earned highest profit from it.)
The day on which the news of bonus spread out
Yes, on the very day Sombari gave birth a stone.
It's her seventh 'child'.
Gazed into the flesh she spitted upon it.
Joseph put this seventh 'child'
hurriedly on the cradle of good earth and drank seven glasses of cheap wine.
He still hears the beats of Madal.
His black naked calf of legs trembled but overcome the long path
by captivating an imaginary waist of a lass who holds his grotesque
body while in dance.
Sombari casted wonderful names to each
of the seven buried babies,
Plucking fresh leaves and chanting hymns she sprinkled restorative water
on the heads of sevens.
Her fingers moved like wave,
wave after wave,
As if simply playing a harmonium by a tidal wave
Her dumb throat about to burst as if a blackish river wants to come out speedily.
On Monday Sombari spitted for one more time.
That was the day
Weather of storm and thundering
Like a tree slanted in wind
She bowed down and prayed
Oh cloud! Please sum up curb your weapons
Raising her hands on highway she screamed
Oh wind please cool down.
Nothing happened
Only a destructive wavy path
Stayed opened swallowing a watermelon in dream,
She became pregnant
And like a thunder she entered into the watermelon
Getting in touch with the beauty of her picturesque
The inner self at the watermelon become fully reddish
Immediately some orphan molecule surrounds her and uttered
Mummy, please tell us a story
Story?
How could she tell the story of a moon?
When carrying down from the sky and backed on a Teflon frying pan
The moon become hot, afflicted, voiceless and halted
One day the moon turned into a nymph
Carried wit her with the scars of fire
Those who believe in UFO and alien
Some among them, a morning walker
Got a new-born girl child
In a half-eaten watermelon
On her body, are the scars of fire
Then my wife was engulfed in the T.V. serials
My daughter was busy in cooking a continental dish
in the kitchen. Tuna & Caper Panzanella dish,
something like this. Strange sense of taste.
And I am in my bed enthralled in dream of moonlight
Illusive moonlight, A red lily in the moonlight
A bunch of Saccharum leaning in a relative distance.
The Saccharum wanted to take an interview of mine.
Sir, what do you know, what you don't know?
She seemed to be familiar with me.
Oh dear, I don't know whether the gods cultivate or not.
Why the festivity the nymphs is fabulous, don't know.
Why the seers are full of anger, why render to curse, don't know that.
Don't know why God is invisible.
Why the holy books contain the subject of war, don't.
Don't know that why an epic wasn't written with the matters of Cultivation,
Cultivator and Paddy field.
Then Sir, what do you know?
To my knowledge,only one thing--
Men learned the use of fire
The he who knows the use of fire is human
The animals don't know that use of fire.
But oh dear, what is your name?
Priya Basumatary.
Suddenly the Saccharum
disappeared
The moon also hid, the red lily shined in the place of the moon
Blood dropped from the petals like dew drops
In the Bharatabarisa
Woke up hustle and touched my body
Blood only blood
As I am the Bharatabarisa myself
Overturning in the bed of blood.
Making my heart worthless where did you fly away
The warbler
Unable to perceive .
The queen of night of my yard blossoms in darkness
The fermentive aroma pleasantly innervates .
One day the boys played hide and seek on the field
Now the field plays the hide and seek
The hide and seek blasts like booms.
The Warbler
With you took away the fragrance of the queen of night
A bowl of fresh blood is what you left for me.
Flood copulated my mother
So I was born
So am a mud-born lotus
My mother is still sleeping
In the extremity of that marsh
In the mudy bed
Pouring the fluid of mud and water
She is decorating me with colours
My invisible physique is in the womb of water
My visible physique is
on the water
Q-At Auschwitz, tell me ,where was God?
A-Where was men?
--William Styron
The naked women
Aged, young, teenagers came into the bathroom.
Slacking the cloths of of the physique one mother
wanted to see the dawn of the chest of a teenager
Just like the pollens of the East will illuminate the Sky!
The girl bathed with the rays of the raising sun
About to die in shame
With the two hands wanted to hide the two buds of rose.
Firming the panty of the waist
The mother touched the uncovered body
Is this the line of union of the Sky and the ocean?
Is this the last gift of the earth ?
Is this the begging of the physique- festival?
Pushing her to the 'bathroom ', the mother stunned.
This is the last chapter of intimidation?
After that standing on the threshold of the bathroom, roared:
Rudolf Hess-know it better
What type of bathroom is this!
I don't have fear for death
Ohh.. to the innocent children ,yours...
Faugh ..Faugh! blame you
After a short while, there will be no space for you in this earth!
Good bye....
There after in the 'Gas chamber' of the bathroom
Smoke of 'Cyclone- B'
Writhing for a few minutes
Howling of emptiness
Endless silence
In the outside
Under the open sky
Two indignant
Children of three years
Holding the hand of an one year old child
Is teaching to walk
In the bosom of the earth.
She was a snail
Why forced into a shell
Converted her hot breathing into
Your triumphant outcry
Blowing her lifeless body
Reverberated the surrounding
She was a snail
Why converted into a conch
No blood
No flesh
No smile
A statue of grief .
A fable is capturing the surrounding
Tears of statue.
The floood comes
Flood of tears
Every house is submerging
Only water
Screams .
Stream of flood
Stream of blood
Stream of flesh
A statue of sorrow.
After hunting too many people
There is no scar of blood
In his face or in his claws
He is so powerful
King
King of beasts
Great King
***
About the translator:
Gayatri Devi Borthakur is a poet, translator, writer. Her translated poems have been published in different anthologies, newspapers, journals and magazines. She has also participated in 'Mulakat' programme of of Sahitya Academy.
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