The Hungry Stones V

In time when night turned to dawn, I could see, It all appeared like sheer fantasy. Light-hearted, I put on my office hat, And hurriedly in my horse carriage sat To drive away myself to sink in work To return late, but before it was dark, But drawn as if to my strange haunting house, Perhaps an unfulfilled desire to douse As if someone awaited there for me, Was it that I was keen someone to see? Startled, I looked at dark, desolate path, My carriage rattled giving me dust bath, On reaching, again to fill with old thrills Of my palace that stood on gloomy hills. The first floor led to a spacious hall, Its roof stretched over ornamental hood Resting on three pillars— massive and tall, Groaning, weighed down by their own solitude, The daylight dimmed, but lamps not yet lighted, The door when opened great bustle greeted Me, as if a throng of souls were let loose, Confused, rushing through doors, windows obtuse, Crowding corridors as if all agape, Fraught with fear, who made a hurried escape. Seeing none still, I stood tense, bewildered, Hair bristled with delight and half with fear, Faint scent of attar and odd unguents Of old filled my nostrils half blocked by dust, Drenched was I with darkness, clueless in mind, Groping amidst endless rows of pillars, Listening to the gurgle of fountains Splashing cascades on marble floor below, Strange tunes on harp, feminine ornaments Jingling, tinkle of anklets, clang of bells Tolling of times, the din of the crystal Pendants of chandeliers shaken by breeze, The cries of bulbuls struggling in cages Cackle of storks in corridors nearby, Chancing to catch fish from founts, made the scene. A spell of intangible weird vision Then came to me, over-powering me, A dream-like spell was the reality, The world around appearing like a dream, The real me was not what I would deem, It looked like strange ludicrous illusion! And standing in the gloom, in fuzzy fluff, Suddenly, I had burst into horselaugh, To which my servant rushed in with a lamp To bring realities back to the camp, Or thought me a mad man that big bucks earned, The world around me a full circle turned, Anyway, great bards muse to imagine, And laugh when delighted—never a sin. _____________________________________________ Narrative |01.04.2024| Note: A poetic translation of Rabindranath Tagore’s story in Bengali: Kshudhaarto Paashaana, in blank verse that lapses into rhymes along with its twists and turns.