Those were the impeccable times.
Thatched roof home,
cow-dung veneered verandah
stretched
from
the shallow pond
to the phani manasa shrub.
Grandmother appearing.
Two brinjals in hand. Two khadus on two wrists.
Jingling. Ironly cuffs.
Said, “These are yours now —
two young cows, you Badua!
Take them to the grazing field.
Protect them from Pashupati the bull.
Collect dung in an iron pail.
We will not cut
anymore this year a tamarind tree.
Only dry coconut shells, chaffs,
cow dung cakes
to boil
cauldrons of paddy.”
The two brinjals were burnt the same night
on the embers
of a two-mouth chuli.
Their violet skins peeled off,
revealing mouth watering meat.
The same year, my grandmother peed
on the verandah. On the mud it had made she slid,
to break her forehead
against her iron arm.
The vaidya prescribed a Chandrayan.
"Scant virtue, woman,
too much phlegm!
Yet, your silly heart beats!”
He roared kindly.
Crooked lips — red eyes —
three aunts circled in
from their in-laws’
by noon —
At nightfall, we downed a tamarind tree.
Glossary:
Phani Manasa: Indian prickly pear tree, Opuntia ficus-indica.
Khadus: Thick bangles.
Badua: The head of a village (affectionately used).
Chuli: An oven made by digging a hole in the ground.
Vaidya: An ayurvedic doctor.
Chandrayan: A Hindu ritual to wash off the sins of one who is soon to be deceased.
(The poem was published in the Sahitya Akademi’s ‘Indian Literature’ #326 in December, 2022)
