Aniruddha Pathak Poet Narrative

The Hungry Stones, Death of the flower of desert- XI

A pair of slave girls waved chamar to thee,
As diamonds flashed in lamps vibrantly lit,
A king of kings must have bent to his knee,
To strip the shoes from thy elegant feet,
An Abyssinian eunuch of foul breath,
Who looked just like a harbinger of death,
Though clad like a gay angel, somewhat odd,
Stood standing guard there with a naked sword,
Perhaps to have secured thy stately room,
And yet I wonder, what brought on the doom
Of thy death, O thou flower of the desert?
What swept away the glory of thy grandeur?
What kind of jealousy had come to hurt
Thee? And what intrigue could have killed if ever?
To what dark shore of dour death wert thou cast?
At what vile land? It leaves me quite aghast.

A query riddled in my memory
For long, as I writhed through my reverie,
Until I heard screams of Maher Ali:
‘Stand back, stand back, all this is fairy tale',
And then my servant brought the post to me,
While the salaam from cook looked cold and stale.
No more could I stay in this eerie place,
And packed off to move back to work amidst
Souls in solid flesh, life alive in grace—
My servant smiled, though hopeful of the least.

Yet, by the eve, more faint-headed I grew,
And felt as if I had a tryst to keep,
Office work seemed like earning bread from blue,
A better harvest was when there to reap,
I threw it all aside to drive away,
Not stopping till the palace was in sight;
The day bid farewell in a dim twilight,
With hurried steps I made my upward way.
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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.

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