The Hungry Stones VIII
With trembling heart, as an attempt I made
To leap across, he woke up with a start,
The sword fell from his lap with a sharp clang,
A terrifying scream when made me jump,
I saw me leaping from my bed, sweating,
A crescent moon looked pale in morning light,
I looked a weary sleep-starved man at dawn,
And my crazy Maher Ali screaming,
As was his daily custom while he strode,
‘Stand back, stand back', he yelled winding his way.
Such abrupt was the end of my first night
That awaited a thousand more of fright!
…..
A gulf growled O betwixt my days and nights,
A worn out and tired me going to work,
Cursing last bewitching night's weird dream,
Yet, all new nights came pledging new promise,
Though shackles of my work were far from sham,
The nightfall would catch me in eerie thrall,
O overwhelming me in total snare,
Intoxicating and overpowering,
When I’d get reborn as an unknown knight
Of a bygone era, playing my part
In unknown history never ere writ,
My English coat and tight breeches standing
The least in my fertile mind's fairy role,
In red velvet cap, pyjamas too loose,
An embroidered tight vest, flowing silk gown,
Many a shaded, scented handkerchiefs,
Musing o'er an elaborate toilet,
I'd sit on a high-cushioned velvet chair,
A hookah filled with rose water in place
Of a usual cigarette and proud face,
In eager anticipation to meet,
Who else? My first night's sorely missed nymphet,
Black beast, pet aversion and dark secret,
But for that spoil-sport eunuch's blocking feet!
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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.
Copyright ©
Aniruddha Pathak
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