The Hungry Stones XIII

To office when I rushed to ask old Khan, To tell me meaning if at all of all, And what I learnt from the old man was this: A story of countless unrequited, Unfulfilled longings, lurid flames of red, Wild carnal pleasures raging within walls Of the palace of ill repute, the curse Of collective heartaches of teenage girls, Of blasted hopes that made every stone nurse A red grudge against evil perpetrators, The thirst of hungry stones, palace a whole, In long years turning into prime haters, Eager to swallow any living soul, Like a famished ogre on eating spree, Not one that lived there three nights of a pause, Could have escaped safe from its cruel jaws, Save, Maher Ali— from all reasons free. So, there is a way out for my release, I posed, ‘of course for a man of your means, Why stay beyond tall hills, if you so please, And you do well know how it all begins— Tale of a bud caught in a stormy sea, And fated to live at that haunted shore, Scarce anything could more pathetic be, Anything more heart-rending to the core'! _____________________________________________ Narrative |01.04.2024| Note: A poetic translation of Rabindranath Tagore’s story in Bengali: Kshudhaarto Paashaana, divided in I to XIV 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.