The Hungry Stones IV

I felt a sharp thrill in my heavy heart, But hardly knew if that tip of a dart Was caused by delight, fear or curious mind, And felt an eerie, strong urge truth to find, But naught was seen before me, nor could hear A thing clearer despite my straining ear, All I could was birds chirping in the wood, As if a dark curtain made of past stood Hanging before my anxious pair of eyes, Fains if I could lift them nigh to peer through, For, total darkness enveloped my view, I hoped still, sooner would the curtain rise. A sudden gust of wind lifted the weight Of oppression— thanks for life's small mercies— The still surface of the river rippled, Curling a tad like strands of a nymph's hair, The woods were wrapped in evening's sleepy gloom When there was some relief ah of murmur As if arisen from a darkling dream! Was it real or a tired man's daydream? Piercing through the centuries gone by, Vanishing in a flash as moments fly, And yet, the mystic forms that brushed past me With quick bodiless steps, loud lifeless laugh, The sound of bodies splashing in river, The eerie apparitions somewhat bent, Squeezing their dripping robes awhile they went, Remained in my mind's vague vision for long, O like fragrance wafted away by wind, Dispersed but by a single breath of sprig. Filled I was with the fear: or Muse it was That gained gratitude of my solitude, Possessing me in such a lonely wood, A witch, thought I, visited on a cause. Whatso it be, let a good dinner fill Me, an empty maw’s undoubted devil, I’ll call cook, let a hefty dinner be— Of lots of spices made smoother with ghee. _____________________________________________ Narrative |01.04.2024| Note: A poetic translation of Rabindranath Tagore’s story in Bengali: Kshudhaarto Paashaana, divided in I to XIII parts, largely in blank verse that lapses into rhymes along with its twists and turns. The story is known to have happened during Tagore’s stay at Shaahibaug palace in Ahmadabad, the nearby river Sabarmati becoming river Suista in the story.