The Hungry Stones, The sobs of hungry stones- X
As I prepared to go out on my horse
One eve, despite pleas to stay from my course,
Just as I reached for my hat from the rack,
A whirlwind crested across dusty tract,
Lifting dead leaves from the Aravalli hills,
Twirling them high over the palace ills,
While a loud peal of mocking laughter rose,
And faded out where the sun slowly goes,
Robbing my dare and my ride in the wood,
It stole away my English hat for good.
The night was old when the sobs softly stirred,
Heart-rending, stifled, right below my bed,
Rising as if from unknown nether world,
Perchance from many a pathetic head,
From darkling depths of a damp grave of old,
A voice piteously cried, catching my hold,
Imploring me, ‘do something, rescue me
From what eternal prisons seem to be,
This deathlike slumber, fruitless dreamy ills—
Place me on horse and race on the double,
Press me close to your heart, riding through hills
And woods, and across a dried-out puddle,
Take me to sunny spots from dark, new thrills.’
Many a doubt flashed in my bestirred mind:
Why be it me? How can I rescue thee?
What passions shall draw thee out to be free?
O Beauty, from this wild whirlpool of dreams,
Do tell me whence didst thou flourish and when?
By which cool spring, in what shady date-groves?
Thou wert born in whose lap? By what homeless
Wanderer, what desert, and which fierce
Bedouin snatched thee from mom’s arms? Pray, tell me,
A mere bud wert thou plucked from a creeper,
And placed upon a horse, lightning swift flash,
Far, far across the scorching desert sands—
O to the slave-mart of what royal city?
Hearing laurels of thy blossoming youth,
To which chieftain had thou been taken then,
Placing thee in a golden palanquin
As royal gift fit for an emperor.
__________________________________________
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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