Brahman Nemesis

                             Brahman Nemesis

          22 But to those who adore me with a pure oneness of soul, to those who are ever in harmony,
               I increase what they have and I give them what they have not.
          23 Even those who in faith worship other gods, because of their love they worship me,
               although not in the right way.
          24 For I accept every sacrifice, and I am their Lord supreme.
               But they know not my pure Being, and because of this they fall.

                                           THE BHAGAVAD GITA: 9, transl. Juan Mascaro (London:Penguins), 1962


               the puja  never ends 
                                 the sound of conche-shells rush up from starved caving lungs  the fire still burns ditheringly in tiered brass oil-lamps  the sanctum sanctorum still resounds to the same old Vedic mantras their walls pitch-tarred by centuries of sacrificial smoke  the naked granite Amman’s  torso and limbs sunk in massive mountainous pitchblack porous rock  bathed in milk and coconut-oil  jasmine petals  vibhuthi     the ritual never varied  nor the droned sanskrit rocambolesques phonemes learned by rote and remembered since a toddling three or four through chanting playfully all-day-long in unison within bare highstone-walls amidst the  making-of-faces to the bare-chested fair-complexioned eternal cousins in drawn-up and tucked-in dhotis their long-flowing gingerly-oiled sheetblack hair tied-up in a cone and sagging over the forehead   these the keepers of the « I » who wants and Oh needs worship

        You the Brahmins claim   picked from Your head Your chosen
                                   You who gave us the intelligence to question
                     Doubt and despite our conditioned voice our dissent
                  Now threaten us with holy fire the right path mistaken 
                                O Allah-uh-Akbar                        
                                O the King of Kings  
                                           Give us this day Your comforting bread

                                                                 
        now the days are almost over when Your chosen few strutted about Your smoke-and-incense-filled courtyard barechested lest their twice-born ethereal insignia misses the masses clanging bells yelling orders in mantric spells making as though You resided in them  nay  You were them they were You  their minds wrought by the belief that work was for the menial castes all untouchables all fools all filthy their breath impure  Your chosen children’s food pure  sanctified daily by Your inner eye  their genes their blood pouring from one tumbler into another and back into their veins like the hot tea drawn in an arc between arm-length held tumblers their vedas the only vedas  their language Your language  a prayer in any other language gets channelled to Your  if we are to believe them  sworn enemy the stoker of the fiery dungeons  

        there was a time  there were millenia  those who issued from Your arms thighs feet  and the néant below and beyond  all all untouchables of course  gave in sacrifice to You what was demanded by Your chosen lot  how you cared for your few ordained representatives on this infinitesimal speck in your sweeping vastnesses  
       but now the time is drawing to a close  the pujas the marriages the deaths the astrological charts net in hardly the sums needed to keep Your valiant few intact  their voice tremble now their chants in Your name growing meeker and meeker through commonlaw marriages  selflit pyres  computerized astro-charts  and prayers offered in Your name while speeding in petrol-driven carts
     
  who would you elect again as Your spokesmen
                     Whitehall  White House  the Kremlin  the Imperial Palace or the Elysée Palace
              who would speak for You
                                    represent You
                                        sing Your praises
                                            keep Your house in order here on earth
                                                and drive terror into those who would suspect a ruse

     now that the prideless old but still plump priest with six unmarried daughters begs with outstretched hand at the temple portals vying with the maimed untouchable in shredded trailing rags   his wide bright doleful eyes 
                    a telltale warning to your indifference  

               one to keep his pure-bred lasses within unpryable walls
               the other to keep hunger from shrivelling up his balls 
        
                                                                                           the ultimate sacrifice


1 the brahmin conducted mass in the sanctum sanctorum as the intermediary between Brahman (the God-Head) and the other castes, the latter paying for it in cash or in kind

2 the Hindu Goddess Parvati ; also a suffix to names of deities signifying malevolence.

3 powdered ash of cow-dung, used by Hindus on their forehead, arms and torso as an insignia of their religiosity.


From the sequence : « Words for a Lost Sub-Continent » in the privately published collection : longhand notes (a binding of poems), Paris : 1999, 115p. ISBN 2-904428-14-3

May 24-25, 1997
Copyright © | Year Posted 2016

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