Kalahandi

In the shifting shadows of lantern light
Her hollow contours become yet more pronounced
Against the pitch darkness of the impatient man
As he advances she struggles with the suffocating stench
Of empty sacks stained with kerosene smoke
Smell of hooch, of sweat, of flesh, the Man's
Drunken half-smile, look of vague desire, the dark
Hollow of her dry hung elongated breasts, the dark
Gaping cleavages of paddy fields throw a mocking sneer.
Erratic fingers, nails digging into the skin -
Haggard looking crows swooping down in haphazard trajectories.
Twisting of bodies, arms clasping, unclasping
Emaciated naked children fight over a loaf
Of dark bread snatched from a tired dog :
silhouettes of puppets in a drollery
A woman wails by the body
Of husband crushed under a sack of relief rice
his breath, her breath, hot, mingling together :
Dry leaves rustle in the mid-afternoon air.
She cambers up, indifferent, like a crab, in spasms
As the hairy-chested man lunges for a decisive thrust :
Look of tiredness in the eyes,
ready to bite, but unable to move the underjaws.
Her body, breathing, lies exhausted -
A gleam of compromised content in her eyes
Having added two rupees to the forty she earned last
week by selling off her daughter.

---Dr Tapan Kumar Pradhan

Hour of Coming

Death does not come when you call Him
However much you call, He never comes :
He comes only at his appointed hour -
Playing hide and seek, biding his time
Comes Death one day
all of a sudden !
When you are lying alone in your bed of rags,
Flies on your face and blood in nostrils,
Knees full of pus, boils under buttocks
With nobody to say even 'Ah Dear !' to you
No strength left even to vomit things out
Eyes filled with tears mixed with pain
You cry out loud - Death ! Death ! O Death!
Can't bear it any more Oh Take me away Death !!
But never comes Death !
When you are sitting alone in the middle of night
Under village banyan tree wrapped in a blanket
Looking at younger brother's funeral pyre :
In the burning embers you see wife's dead face
Remember playmates, school-friends, dead face
And cry out loud pressing your aching heart to chest
Friends gone, kin gone, daughter gone to in-laws :
Why do you O Lord still keep me in this world !
You wish, if only
could just now
come Death !!
Never comes Death !
When you are relaxing supine in your morning bed
Pressing the radio close, listening to cricket :
India versus Pakistan - ah, final match,
Ten runs to win, and just another wicket :
Your daughter comes near and breaks the news
Son-in-law's promotion - ah what a good news,
Playing in her lap little four-month old grandson
with soft pink little fingers fondles your beard :
"Oh dear one ! my diamond one ! my golden one, my little one !
Umhh... my remaining years be all yours, O lovely one.... !"
You softly kiss your grandson's forehead -
Four runs to win :
Then comes Death !

---Dr Tapan Kumar Pradhan